Agent B
by irislim
Summary: William Darcy can save the world, banish aliens, usurp empires, and make his mark on history on any average day - but when the attacks hit much closer to home, even he has to admit he needs Lizzie Bennet's help. (A.K.A. that superhero AU that nobody asked for.)
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story is very much a modern AU. It uses our favorite characters but does not mirror the original plot._ _I owe many thanks to headless-nic, Jalema, and mahtra for their correspondence and suggestions. I'm sorry if your suggestions didn't result completely in what you wanted, but I hope you can feel good about having contributed to the existence of this story._

 _If you just found this story by accident, thank you for giving such a strange premise a chance. I hope you like where I take this. If, like me, you never liked superheroes all that much but married a guy who loves them and osmosis-ed you, welcome to the club! I hope he's thankful you're giving this a try._

* * *

 **Present Day, New York City**

* * *

The S gene has always had a mind of its own. It's been recorded for the last two centuries, but still not better named. Some say the 'S' stands for 'shy' or 'secluded,' 'strange' or even 'shameful.' Some others say it stands for 'super' or 'special.' In Lizzie's side of the universe, at least, people like to claim the latter two.

It's hard not to spot a carrier, special (there we go) powers and all. It's even harder to find a _decent_ carrier - someone who hasn't let his unique talents get to his head. Again, the gene emerges pretty randomly. Identical twins may only share one gene between them, while sibling groups or neighbor groups may sometimes all have it. She's heard a hypothesis, once upon a time, that every carrier is descended from a certain group of folks from 19th-century England. As far as she's concerned, that's not true either.

Her father wasn't from there. Her grandmother was part Cherokee. It doesn't make sense at all.

It doesn't make sense that the Darcy family has always had one - but only one - S gene carrier every generation. It doesn't make sense that Caroline Bingley, who really doesn't need another reason for vanity, gets to be part of the rare sibling-group carriers. It doesn't make sense that Lizzie, the obvious daughter of an obvious carrier, can't find the gene in herself or in any of her sisters - and has to resort to _working_ for other carriers to be part of the movement at all.

Life's pretty unfair - and, sometimes, that unfairness majorly sucks.

* * *

"Well, take that, you laughing Hyena!" Matlock's laugh is wild and infectious when he swings himself up on the giant platform and marches his way indoors. Leader or not, he's a total man-child. "Didn't take long, that one."

Lizzie smiles from her station. The twenty-five screens sprawled all in front and around her make her feel safe, at least, from the inevitable onslaught of -

"Darcy was _so_ heroic, straight in the heart of danger!" Caroline's tentacles fold electronically before snapping shut behind her. Her laugh, unlike Matlock's, is on the grating side. Her hands fly to her hips, always two seconds away from a supermodel pose. " _I_ had to fly him out, of course, but he was the one who - "

"Saved the day?" Bingley, parades into their penthouse office via clear, giggly clouds, smiling pretty widely himself. "Those sleet sheets helped, I swear."

"Of course they did." Darcy, as always, emerges last - suddenly appearing in the middle of the floor.

Lizzie scoffs at the dramatic entrance.

A man who carries buildings, a girl who flies, a weather magician, and an _actual_ invisible friend - since when had this become her life?

"Two hours - I think that's a record!" Bingley - well, Gale Lord, if he's in this costume - grins from ear to ear. A feminine squeal behind Lizzie quickly reveals _why_. He embraces Jane instantly. "Don't know what took the Guardians so long."

"We could have shaved ten minutes if Selenop had done what she'd supposed to," Darcy complains, hands folded.

Lizzie rolls her eyes are the predictability of it all because, you know, only Darcy would be upset about such an obvious victory.

Then again, she's never been one to shy away from a chance to put Caroline Bingley in her place.

"He's right," Lizzie agrees, drawing all eyes to her station. Despite all the superpowers she clearly doesn't have, she likes to think _she_ 's the heart of The Citadel, the only reason the Alliance needs to convene here at all. "Hyena was close enough for The Colonel to strike after the first set of sheets. Selenop left a blind spot."

"Well, I never! Elizabeth Bennet, who are _you_ to - "

"Caroline!" Bingley scolds - apologetically, of course. "She's explaining what happened and helping us improve."

" _Improve_? I don't see how a _plebian_ can have _anything_ to - "

"She's my sister, Caroline," Jane speaks up, gentle and kind. "I know we're pretty ordinary, but we try to help too."

Bingley kisses her soundly, eliciting the obligatory groans from the menfolk. Caroline sputters, incoherent - then silences after Darcy's glare.

The guy was stuck up, but at least he controls the worst of the lot.

Lizzie smirks. "Good job, guys, the Hyena is the third strike this month."

"Stealing my thunder, Agent B?" Richard Matlock looks comical, puppy dog eyes on that humongous body - not that _that_ 's ever stopped him. His nickname suits his strength, if not his person. He smirks back. "Good job, guys! The Alliance wins again."

Darcy grips the extended palm from his cousin and leader - stoic, civil. Caroline sighs (because she'll obviously _never_ be the leader around here). Bingley kisses Jane hard on the mouth.

Lizzie, on her part, is happy to sit right where she is - enthroned amidst her gadget friends.

Who needs a man?

"Get the champagne, Charles?" Matlock suggests-slash-commands.

Bingley lifts a finger, asking for an extra minute to kiss a swooning Jane, before letting go and nodding.

Caroline scoffs. "Why send _Charles_ , Richard-dear. The _intern_ is sitting right there!"

It doesn't take long for Lizzie to seethe.

"Really, Caroline? Wanna see who joined the Alliance first? Those employee records are on _my_ side, last I checked."

"Caroline! Your arm!" Jane interrupts, gliding over to her boyfriend's sister. Her fingers land gracefully on the spot where a small gash had slit through the spider case. "Let me get you to the med bay. We don't want it to leave a scar."

If there was anything Jane was better at than being the perfect nurse and girlfriend - it's probably knowing _exactly_ what to say every time.

Nothing like appealing to her vanity in front of William Darcy to make Caroline comply.

Lizzie tries not to smirk _too_ hard when the two ladies slide away.

"Party's done _already_?" Bingley's back, hands full - instant ice in every glass. "Where's my sister?"

"Being placated by the nurse," Darcy explains. His Miragem costume - well, _attire_ , if you ask him - is a little unnecessary given his skill set. But it's not as if Darcy wears anything much outside of black, grey, and the occasional streak of red in real life.

"My Jane? Again?" Bingley's a sweetheart.

"Yes." Darcy is _still_ crossing his arms.

His tone may sound impassive, but Lizzie sure hears the disdain in every one of his last six words.

It's not easy, frankly, working with all these carriers. They call themselves Hiros and try to save the world. They live in giant luxury buildings with a state-of-the-art office in the heart of Manhattan, a stone's throw from everyone's house.

Everyone except the Bennets.

You know what people say about Manhattan doubling its population during work hours? Yeah, she's one of those contributors, every single day.

"Was adding Selenop a bad call?" Matlock asks out loud, because he's just the perfect leader that way. "She did seem pretty enthusiastic when I first recruited her. And Wickham had - "

The Colonel drifts off, and Gale Lord and Miragem just sigh. Lizzie looks up and down awkwardly.

It's not that she _can't_ look it up. The world is at the fingertips of any world-class hacker - among which Lizzie _knows_ she belongs. Whoever this mystery George Wickham was and what exactly he did to get cast out of the Alliance before it had even solidified had to be buried _somewhere_ , dark web or not.

It's only out of respect that she doesn't look it up.

It's pretty obvious that the three Hiros wouldn't want her to anyway.

The loud, pinging sound of an arriving text message gets Matlock looking up the screen on his arm. The proud grin is hard to miss. "Marianne's calling. Jim's pretty upset that I'm not home yet. Could we push that party to later tonight?"

"And waste all this goodness?" Bingley sips half the contents straight out of the bottle. He grins too. "Can't promise I'll leave any."

"Then get another case." Matlock turns to his wrist again at the next text. "Alright, alright, I'm coming. Marianne's threatening with the card pack already."

"Still in the dog house, Rich?" Darcy smiles a little. "Thought you'd sorted that out already."

"We did. Just need to make sure I stay _out_ of it for the rest of the year." Matlock's wink and smile go unexplained, but he's at the door pretty quick. Superstrength means super steps too, apparently. "See you guys tonight? Maybe at eight?"

"I'll reserve the penthouse," Darcy promises - because, you know, _this_ penthouse is for work and the other one for play. One can't get enough penthouses, ever.

"We're not celebrating at The Citadel?" Bingley is one cuddly bunny, sometimes. No wonder Jane loves him.

"Darcy Tower's better," the owner says.

Lizzie doesn't even care that he hears her scoff.

* * *

She's invited to the party, of course, though she's not exactly sure if that's a compliment or insult. She's always been every bit the middle child. Jane's the introvert and Lydia's the party animal. Lizzie - is just Lizzie. Hardworking, useful, and decent enough.

Maybe it's that label at home that always makes her hungry for something, always in search for that opportunity to prove herself. Not being born with the gene doesn't mean she won't make it. Jane is everyone's favorite person at The Citadel. She's kind and generous and the patron saint of the med bay.

Lizzie, determined and sarcastic, is the rough-around-the-edges one who gets along with the boys.

She met Richard Matlock (okay, semi-stalked and located) soon after the George Wickham debacle. She was the friendly stranger at the bar who didn't flirt but magically helped. She worked her butt off to be the first non-carrier member of the Alliance. She shows up to work early every day and stays until everyone locks up. She introduced her sister, the better one, to help with the team. She's everyone else's window to the world.

She's the self-made woman who holds her own against the Hiros, and she's every bit proud of that fact.

She arrives late tonight, not exactly the type drawn to the glitz and glamour of Darcy Tower. She only comes because it's part of the job. Even the jeans and blue top come straight off from her work wardrobe. The hell she's dressing up for self-indulgent fools.

The music and giggles and mechanic screeches increase with every floor the glass elevator scales. She's pretty sure the men - and maybe Caroline - are halfway drunk already. Nothing like a hundred robots at your beck and call to fill you up fast. If she really wants to keep score, she can easily say that there's probably more people _serving_ up there in Darcy's party space than people being served. She can sue them; file complaints against them.

They're lucky Richard Matlock is a nice boss - and, of course, that Bingley is dating Jane.

Her sister and boyfriend make no secret of their relationship, as usual, and are eating each other's faces off when Lizzie finally walks out of her solitary elevator trip up the tower. The chrome theme and vast windows are every bit Darcy, and it's _his_ penthouse suite that sits atop this area - the only thing to do that, actually. He's offered her a tour before - but she's not about to let him show off his wealth and powers.

She's been here, done that. She doesn't need another reason to feel disappointed that she never got the gene. Never really wanted to -

She groans louder than the upbeat music when she sees what - or _who_ \- is on top of the table right now.

It seems almost as if wearing the state-of-the-art Selenop armor doesn't match up with her fashion sense - and this woman much prefers wearing _nothing_ in her natural habitat.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah - Marianne might - " Matlock hiccups, eyes directed upwards, when Caroline gyrates right up against him before continuing her trip around the table. _Technically_ , the flesh-colored hot pants and uber-tight tank top do count as clothing. For all intents and purposes, though, she's a stripper at the end of her dance.

Lizzie grits her teeth when she walks closer. She needs them to see her, to at least know she obeyed orders and joined the party tonight. She can at least _pretend_ to enjoy it for half an hour.

Jane will complain that she's going home without her. Lizzie knows that Jane stays over so often at Charles's unit that this tower might as well be her home too.

Who needs Brooklyn and a screechy Mrs. Bennet when she can have Charles Bingley and the entire Darcy Tower staff - robotic and otherwise - at her beck and call?

Granted, Jane's not materialistic like that. But Lizzie doesn't feel all that great being 'left behind' either.

"Lizzie!" Matlock lights up when he sees her. Lizzie smiles. There's a reason he's behind the Alliance. The magnetic personality that convinced even _Darcy_ to use his powers for good has got to be something special. "You made it."

"Yeah." Lizzie shrugs, smiling a little.

"Oooh, Darcy, oh!" Caroline - clearly drunk out of her senses (whatever sense she _had_ in the first place) - is nearly _on top_ on her next victim. Given her flight powers, stroking her butt against Darcy's lap probably isn't as necessary to her staying upright as she'd like to pretend. But, then again, she's never really fooled anyone.

"Caroline, you're drunk. Get off - "

"Oh, but Darcy, isn't this _fun_?" The strip act continues despite Darcy's muttered protests. Lizzie is _this_ close to retching out of her already-empty stomach.

The victory party was an Alliance tradition. On party per villain conquered - it's always been the drill. Everyone heads to Darcy Tower for the night. Again, the Citadel is for work; this is for play. When even Matlock leaves his infant son in the annex and comes to participate, eternally-single and still-lives-with-her-parents Lizzie really has zero excuse not to join. She's expected this, dreaded this.

The familiarity of it all doesn't make things any better.

"Caroline, get off me!" Darcy is almost wailing now. Lizzie almost laughs.

"Yes, Caroline - stop," Matlock turns commanding. Lizzie remembers when Marianne had been the fourth member of the team, when the master cardsmith who can kill and build anything with a deck of cards was the emotional ballast of the team. She had to go ahead and fall in love with her boss, marry him, and retire to be a full-time mom, of course.

And now they're stuck with Caroline.

Blame no one but yourself, folks.

Lizzie rolls her eyes, not really caring if anyone is looking at her, as Matlock stands up to start with the physical restraint.

"Bingley, your sister!" Darcy is shouting behind Caroline's glossy, almost-naked butt. His hands stay anchored to the sofa. It's a really, really funny sight.

"Caroline, stop," Bingley calls out halfheartedly, just a dramatic aside, before going right back to his forever make-out session with Jane.

Lizzie laughs.

"Selenop!" Matlock takes out his Colonel voice, and Caroline stalls a little. "Off, now - you should be going to bed like this."

Caroline glares at their leader, eyes feline and angry. Lizzie almost starts feeling bad for Darcy (just almost).

"Off, now!" Matlock barks. The song in the background ends, and the DJ has the good sense not to start another one.

"Fine," Caroline seethes before flying off her victim and back to the ground. Her chosen landing spot is, quite unfortunately, right next to Lizzie. "You guys don't know a good thing when you see one."

Lizzie scoffs. It's ridiculous, really, why someone would think -

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Caroline swings around and lands a slap on Lizzie's face. The hacker realizes, very belatedly, that she's been talking out loud. "If _you_ think Darcy would _ever -_ "

"Agent B!" Matlock shouts - and Lizzie stays her hand right before it hits Caroline back.

Professionalism, professionalism - the mantra in her head is wearing thinner with every passing day Caroline spends on the team.

"You're just jealous," drunken Caroline scoffs - quite unfortunately for her - in Lizzie's face. "You want Darcy for yourself and you - "

"Stop!" Some time between being enormously relieved that Caroline's finally off his lap and probably feeling very amused at this altercation, Darcy has managed to relocate from his seat on the couch to right behind Lizzie to having his hands on her waist - preventing the much-deserved slap. "Lizzie, you - "

"I what!"

"You have nothing to be jealous of. You're prettier anyway."

* * *

 _A/N: And so their little (or not so little) 'office romance' begins. Hang in there, folks; this might be a long one._


	2. Chapter 2

Caroline didn't take the comment well - because, well, duh.

For ten whole minutes of ruckus after the almost-slap, even Bingley had to give up poking Jane with his tongue. It takes a very kind - and, frankly, a little tipsy - Jane and an insistent brother to finally haul red-faced Selenop out the room and down the elevator. Darcy's lucky her room is twenty floors from his.

And that he has a biometric key, of course.

The room feels even more ridiculously spacious now - with just her in the room with the two Hiros. The Colonel's exhausted from the altercation. Miragem is nursing his drink, finally stripper-free.

Lizzie stays where she is - barely seated at the end of the curvy couch.

She tries to forget the line Darcy had tossed her way. It's just - way too manipulative of him, of course. At the same time, it was kinda smart. She _did_ do a double take, didn't she? His quasi-compliment _did_ keep the slap as an almost-slap. Lizzie's a hothead. She knows it herself.

She can't really blame someone as smart as William Darcy not to have known exactly what was coming up next.

Matlock's loud yawn carries over the now-soft music.

"Well, what a day." The leader grins, a little lop-sidedly. "Marianne will be waiting. Jim's probably already asleep."

"Too much domestic bliss?" Darcy says because he's Darcy.

"You're just jealous." Matlock smirks. He swings up on his feet effortlessly. "You guys enjoy the night."

"Sure."

"Uh huh."

Lizzie doesn't even know who said what.

She's just remarkably thankful Jane and Bingley still come back.

"Lizzie!" Jane's more than tipsy, apparently - and she rushes to hug her sister. "Lizzie, could you - stay - tell Mom - I'm - staying?"

Jane giggles. Lizzie doesn't have the heart to scoff.

"Did you pack a bag?"

"I gave her a drawer." Bingley's comment catches her off guard.

Have they moved in together - already?

She tries to ignore the sudden tightness. She's happy for Jane. That's a given. Who wouldn't be?

Where exactly a loved-up, moved-out older sister leaves Lizzie is the bigger question.

"I'll take you home." Darcy is on a roll for opposites day.

"I'll take the subway," she replies, still blinking.

Charles and Jane have been inseparable from day one. For the first few months of their acquaintance, Gale Lord managed to repeatedly add to a series of exaggerated injuries - injuries that were always landing him indubitably in Jane's care. Frankly, it worked.

Look at him now.

Lizzie does look at them for a moment, hacker eyes trying to decipher the code behind each act. His arm on her waist, her arm on his chest, the _constant_ snogging - it's all a wee bit too predictable.

Not that predictable can't be happy; predictable is what dreams are made of.

Predictable says that a strong career woman forever shadowed by her ultra-feminine older sister will always be the bridesmaid, never the bride.

It's a bitter pill to swallow.

"Have fun, guys." She puts on a smile, because a part of her is happy for real, after all.

Drunk Jane giggles like a six-year-old. Completely sober Bingley giggles right along with her. With his set of powers, little sister Lizzie is more surprised that there aren't little ice fairies dancing around them right now.

She swings her messenger bag on her shoulder (dressing up for parties is overrated when you have parties this often) and stands up in one motion.

"My car is on the ground floor. I'll take you." Darcy stands up too. The party is officially over.

"It's fine." She shrugs. He's being gentlemanly. Gentlemanly is good. Gentlemanly is a heck of a step up from insulting, invisible stranger.

"Lizzie - "

"I didn't have a single drop to drink, I swear." She scoffs and shrugs and speaks flippantly. Being officially left behind is as much her coming-of-age moment as Jane's, she realizes a little in medias res. "You're already home, Darce. Stay home."

He looks at her quietly, but she's too busy moping to wonder where his weird mind has gone.

From his first insult (try "S _he's_ the new guy? No powers?") to his latest compliment, she and Darcy have always had a bit of a complicated relationship. It's never cold like things between her and Caroline. It's also never warm, like how she feels towards Bingley and Matlock.

It's lukewarm, intangible - invisible.

His powers work socially too, in a way.

"Lizzie - "

"I'm sure. Thanks."

Her final answer gets accepted by the lofty Darcy-o-meter in his head, and he nods.

"Goodnight, Bennet."

She smiles. "Goodnight, Miragem."

As if on cue, he retreats into his powers - and vanishes.

Jane and Bingley, _still_ kissing, wander away towards the private elevator. God help her not to imagine what they're doing in private.

All alone, for all she knows, Lizzie sighs.

She doesn't feel like going home to an empty apartment, adjacent to her parents' apartment. Nothing says 'loser' more than living all by yourself within three yards of your parents, right?

She doesn't feel like coffee - or booze. She doesn't feel like treating herself to another new gadget. Those are for _happy_ special occasions, not depressing ones.

Lizzie doesn't really know what to do; so she does the one thing she does best.

Just two blocks away and ten minutes later, she drops into her seat in The Citadel. Each screen cooperates with the others to create a movie screen that beats iMax itself. It only takes a few seconds to conjure any movie she wants, in any language. She settles the popcorn on her blanket.

Jane's grown up, moved on. The boys don't really need her. Caroline is - Caroline.

Lizzie doesn't like being bested - or alone.

Growing up in a residential unit five sizes too small for her loud and annoying family has guaranteed that she'll always long for solitude forever but never enjoy it. It's a cruel joke - a joke she hopes a movie marathon is just in the mood to fix.

It's a good thing she packed a bag too.

* * *

Could he have been any more obvious?

His tie stays invisible until it leaves his hand and falls on the carpet. His penthouse suite - spacious and luxurious - is as immaculate as always until that little act of entropy. Sure, the housekeeper helps, but Darcy keeps up his end of the work too.

He sighs when he rolls down on the bench, just a few inches off the edge of his actual bed - its sleek style more like an elongated ottoman than an actual chair.

The benefits of invisibility include not having to deal with Caroline Bingley all the time.

The disadvantage, of course, is that he seems just as invisible to Lizzie too.

He scoffs a little, all to himself, before swinging a tired hand over his eyes.

He didn't want to care, didn't want to feel. Since when had an outspoken, biting, sarcastic, average-looking brunette become his type? His mom was a brunette, yes - but almost all her friends were slender, feminine, highly-educated, blue-eyed, blue-blooded blondes. He'd watched those ladies - and their clone daughters - come and go. They're nice, they're bland, and they're _safe_.

Lizzie isn't.

He sighs again when he shoves himself upright and heads for the bar. Two glasses of ice-cold water keep any amorous feelings at bay for now.

From the first time he met Lizzie, he knew she was special. Where other women cooed and fussed over the devastation Wickham's betrayal had given him, Lizzie had thrown a 'life sucks' at him and moved on as if nothing had happened.

He liked that.

He smiles, a little forlornly, when the cable news switches on as scheduled. Everything is automated - from his closet door to his media schedule to his social life. The villains change things up occasionally, but he's still friends and colleagues with the same people. Nothing changes.

Sometimes, he wonders if that's a good or a bad thing.

His intercome rings. He lets it go to voicemail. Matlock, in full Colonel sternness, reminds him to rest up for tomorrow. His cousin is hilarious. Darcy smiles.

The midnight news reel is boring, but it still reminds him of something, of someone. He strides across the room quickly.

His thumb waits for the home button on his smartphone to scan. Somehow, even the best technological advances the Alliance has made on communications are based on Steve Jobs's creations. Kudos to Lizzie, though. She's the brain behind all of this.

He smiles at his loaded inbox. At least, in text, he can laugh at Selenop all he wants. The girl's desperate. Charles is cursed for life.

Darcy scrolls down persistently, not stopping to bother with the one-line texts. He ignores the ads and the chain texts and the one-time password pins. He's looking for that one text - that one message that tells him she's okay.

Yes, he's an overprotective older brother. Gia tells him as much.

But given Dad and Mom's history, he can't be too careful.

He's almost at the end of his twenty-six unread messages when he feels it.

'I'm safe' - that's all he needs.

She lives a block from her university. He thinks he knows all her friends. Her teachers are routinely hacked and checked by Lizzie - though he never tells her why or how he gets the names on his list.

'I'm safe' - he keeps looking.

He gets to the last one, some random message from some random number. His fingers start to shake. He's waiting, dreading, hoping that -

 _"Hey Darce, want Gia? Get me my 2 billion first - GW."_

He inhales and stumbles on the carpet simultaneously. The message comes with a photo of 18-year-old Gia - still clothed, thank God - on an unfamiliar bed.

 _"Her life or your money" -_ the caption reads.

Darcy regulates his breathing with effort. He's blinking. He's shaking.

He closes his eyes.

He needs more than his powers for this one.

* * *

 _A/N: I hope this didn't go too far into the AU for your tastes! Thank you so much to everyone who has been supporting my writing, both here and on Amazon :)_


	3. Chapter 3

William Darcy has never been known for his humility. But he, if anything, is a self-aware man. He knows his limits.

He knows when that extra shot of alcohol will send him into embarrassing mumbling (and, quite possibly, unanticipated declarations of love), and he refrains accordingly. He knows when to stay in sight and when to fade into invisibility. He knows what it feels like to weigh his options with extreme care - and to agree to forming the Alliance only if Georgiana's identity and existence be kept under wraps.

He knows when he can handle something himself.

He knows when he needs help - needs _her_ help.

He falters a little just before the final turn into the giant penthouse office. He's a fan of familiarity, and today's overwhelming sense of danger is far more unfamiliar than is good for him. His throat is dry. His hands are sweaty. There are things superpowers just don't fix.

He holds his breath when he approaches the turn.

There have been times when he's run into Lizzie early. The competitive commute into Manhattan never seems to faze her. She's a night owl - he knows that much - but even Mother Nature has her anomalies.

He just hopes she's as early of a bird as he is today.

"Lizzie!" The cry leaves his mouth with far more surprise than he had anticipated. The scene in front of him - all twenty-five sectors comprising a mosaic for _Inside Out_ \- plus a Lizzie in pajamas enthroned amongst a dozen pillows - catches him bizarrely off-guard.

He holds his head and wonders if he's sober.

"Lizzie?"

"Darcy, what are you - " The face now turned towards him is quickly dying itself red. He absolutely certain he's about to get another signature Agent B lecture - when her crimson, smoke-coming-out-of-her-ears expression suddenly softens.

He didn't expect the next line.

"You look horrific. What's wrong?"

He smirks a little, just the quarter of a degree twist at the edge of his lips. It's pathetic how transparent - no pun intended - he can be despite every effort to the contrary.

"I need your help," he mutters the cliché of clichés. His hands dive into his pockets before he shrugs. "I can't tell you much. I don't know how much I _can_ tell without endangering her even more. I just - Bennet, please - I need your help."

He looks at her when he stops, his body barely upright. He's waited all night to leave Darcy Tower. He's tried to fix things himself - to trace Gia's social media accounts and pin her phone. He called her dorm, her super, her everything. He even swallowed his pride and got in touch with the speckled kid he'd suspected was her boyfriend.

Every attempt resulted in nothing.

If anything, Googling "kidnapping victim" only fueled his imagination more towards the untoward.

"Lizzie - "

"Okay, first off, I'll acknowledge your tactfulness just this once." She's standing by now, and she crosses her arms. Her old T-shirt rides up and reveals a small sliver of flesh right above her flannel pajamas. "You were nice enough not to mention the - uhm, _situation_ you walked into. I'll pick your poison. Who's she? What happened?"

Darcy is a little torn between finding her entertainment choices adorable and her interrogative attitude annoying.

It seems to often be the case with her, somehow. She's never hot or cold, at least not completely. She's in between - confusing.

"I need you to find someone," he's all business when he talks. Vulnerability is a shade he doesn't like wearing - so he stands a bit taller, walks a bit closer, looks her in the eye. "She's an art major in her freshman year living just a block from school upstate. She has a housekeeper for her apartment who happens to be on sick leave this week for surgery. She's 5'2" and a brunette. She favors wearing purple."

"Her name is Gia and her last name starts with the letter D," Lizzie adds. He stares at her, shocked still.

How did she -

"I don't pick and choose the info I hack, sir." Her eyes narrow a little. The way she crosses her arms tightens. "I don't exactly approve of using company resources for personal purposes - but seeing that you own Darcy House and put your own money into building most of The Citadel, I'll let it slide."

She meets his eye forcefully, proud and keen. He finds the need to close his mouth.

"As boyfriends go, you're ridiculously controlling," she goes on, still surprising him with her voluntary exposition, "but if your girlfriend has been kidnapped, I feel like I know enough about her to at least care a little."

"No, not girlfriend," he corrects her immediately. He lets loose a small, bitter scoff. "Sister."

The hard look in her eyes molt into surprise - then something that almost hints at concern.

He would have found the change entertaining under less dire circumstances.

"I've tried tracking her phone and reaching out to everyone who might have seen her." He's standing so close that she needs to arch her neck to look at him now. "I got nothing."

She looks at him quietly, and he wonders for a moment if she heard him at all.

"What's her real name?" She's snapped back into agent mode when she talks again. He's a little relieved and a little disappointed.

"Giana Anne Darcy."

"Age is - eighteen?"

"Yes."

"Last seen - "

"Leaving for school yesterday morning. That's based on what I found - no police involved."

"You want to keep it that way?"

"Yes - please."

She nods, arms _still_ crossed. He's waiting, hoping. The quick-fire profiling implies her willingness to help, but this is Lizzie Bennet - working on implications is walking on fire.

The last time she blew up in his face taught him as much.

She said something about powers, he remembers.

"And why would you need me - an average human being with zero S genes in her system - to help _you_?" Her question is frank and pointed - a drawn sword.

He looks at her helplessly. He weighs each word. "Because I need your skills - professionally. I need your expertise and brains."

She pauses, clearly thinking. He hopes with his guts that he'd put it palatably enough.

"And if we can't find her online?" She asks next.

The knot in his heart is real and devastating. "Then let's find her in person - please."

* * *

"Facial recognition says 'here' and 'here,' but her credit card says otherwise." She points to the two screens on her left. Darcy leans in behind her. The warmth is disconcerting. She breathes in and then out. "The fact that her wallet has been stationary for the last sixteen hours implies that she's either lost it or settled down somewhere. Thoughts?"

"It's with her. Wickham has her."

The still morning air - even indoors - makes his grief heavy and profound. William Darcy has _emotions_.

Who would have thought?

Lizzie shakes her head, ignores the epiphany. "Judging from the buildings you had me checked before, your sister lives with a certain - ahem - standard of living. Wickham won't be able to keep her still without at least a decent place to stay. No basements or rope or handcuffs, at least."

The way he frowns makes her wonder if she'd inadvertently shared the bad news instead of the clearly good news she thought she did.

"Is she kinky?" She's always had no filter. "Usually, handcuffs are a bad thing, you know. The average college girl - "

"No, of course not." The haughtiness is back in his voice, and Lizzie feels a _little_ comforted that the Darcy she knows is back. "My sister wouldn't deserve anything less than the best."

It's Lizzie turn to scoff while she turns back to let her fingers fly over her control panel - a giant composition of seventeen keyboard, three dozen nobs, fifty-eight buttons, and a giant trackpad. She plays it like an instrument, _her_ instrument. "If it really had been a girlfriend, at least the sugar daddy explanation stands."

"I wouldn't date a gold-digger," Darcy insists, his voice a little petulant now. "My sister is an extremely accomplished woman, and your insinuations are disturbing."

"I insinuate nothing."

"Yes, you do."

"I have better things to do, Darce." She feels that irrational rush of anger - a sensation so often present whenever Miragem is - shooting through her body again. She stays her tongue until the next series of images show up. "Don't forget _you_ are the one who came to _me_."

"Because you are useful."

"Useful?" She spins around. The back of her swerving chair almost hits him in the chin. She wishes it did. "Is that what I am to you, Darcy? Nothing more than a pawn? Yes, non-carriers are commonplace but we're still - "

"You're amazing," came his two simple words. She stares at him, almost gaping.

He confuses her - has from day one. There's something about him that's intriguing, something beyond his superpowers even. It's almost poetic justice that the guy who hates the spotlight has the actual ability to turn invisible. His powers are handy for him, frustrating for everyone else.

His social skills are also depressingly impaired.

"Hot and cold, Darce. You'll kill everyone in your life one day." She offers a weak smile before the intensity of his gaze drives her back to her screens. Screens are safe. Screens are solid. Screens are not confusing.

She ignores the sound of his heavy breathing and clicks on those last few links.

A window pops up on the four center screens. Darcy leans closer.

"There." She slides the curser over the face under the baseball cap. "That's her - right?"

"Yes."

She can hear his knuckles cracking. He may not have superstrength, but the man sure can turn violent when he -

She stops her own thoughts when she notices what _else_ Darcy's focused on.

"George Wickham." The name comes naturally to her. She may have refrained from her dark web probe, but company IDs and historical photos are fair game.

"Yes."

"Yeah."

They fall silent - Darcy brooding and Lizzie reading, observing. The time stamp and angle and non-linear roads indicate a part of town much further away from Darcy's Time Square mansions - somewhere much closer to home.

"She's in Brooklyn - Brooklyn Heights." Her hand, still missing its morning lotion, traces the road behind the two figures. "Her actions indicate compliance. He's not forcing her or threatening her."

"The hell he isn't."

"Not outwardly." It takes a hot-head to pacify another one. "Google shows the building before its renovation. It looks different now - shinier.

"Can we find her?"

"The ground floor has commercial spaces. It shouldn't be hard."

"Now?"

She's about to answer when she looks up at him. The unshaven cheeks and tired eyes show a man on the brink of a nervous breakdown - not a suave, mysterious superhero.

"I can get you directions," she offers. It figures that he's not a Brooklyn guy. Why go to the island next door when London is just a business class flight away?

"Okay. Where's your bag?"

"My bag?"

"I'll put them in the car first." He's speaking matter-of-factly, completing missing out on the fact that her colleague and only current companion has no idea what he's talking about. His gaze is both blank and determined.

"Wait, you expect _me_ to go with you?" She doesn't bother keeping her skepticism from her voice.

"Of course."

A secret trek through the heart of NYC to hunt down his secret sister - hm, intimate much?

"Darcy, I'm not sure if this is a good - " She stops when his face falls. "Okay, wait, you - "

She holds her breath before releasing it. There's something imbalanced about the situation. That fact that he expects - assumes, even - that she would drop her life at a moment's notice just to help him track down his sister is inherently pompous Darcy. She's not his maid, not his nanny, not his chauffeur. She's employed by the Alliance, not by William Darcy.

On the other hand, there's something very Jerry McGuire-esque about the situation. He's saving his sister. No one can fault him for that.

Could she blame him for admitting that he needs her help just this once?

"Why me?" Her philosophizing sums itself up in two words.

"Because I trust you."

He says it with no fanfare, no drama, no rolling of eyes. It's a statement, plain and simple.

She's frankly unable to reconcile this Darcy with the one she knows she knows.

"Could I think about it?" She bargains because she's Lizzie. Jane is the trusting one; Lydia's the adventurer. Lizzie is the eternal skeptic.

"Quickly?" There's almost a hint of a plea in his voice.

It's all honestly a little too much to handle.

"Yeah, whatever, maybe. I don't think I - " She shrugs and gestures towards the screen wall behind her. "Her address is on the screen. You can get her."

* * *

 _A/N:_ This _is the first time I write a modern Darcy in a longer work, so I am quite nervous about his portrayal. Please do let me know if there is anything you find inconsistent. In other news, Oh Brother, with two whole new chapters, is now available on Amazon's Kindle Store! I would really appreciate your checking it out. My apologies to anyone who had a hard time finding it before today. I hope you'll like this new edition!_


	4. Chapter 4

He crashes into the table, causing a minor storm of paper and phones and blanks, before resuming visibility. For once, even Selenop doesn't coo or sigh or giggle.

"What's up with you, man? Rough day?" Matlock's over in just a few strides, the Alliance logo still splayed over his broad, Colonel-costumed chest. He lands a solid grip on Darcy's shoulder. Darcy pants, swallows. "You almost crashed into Gale Lord's cloud. You're lucky you weren't electrocuted."

"Yes." Darcy manages to grit his teeth, all while panting. "Lucky."

"Miragem, I don't mean to imply - "

"No, no - it's alright." Darcy closes his eyes while his cousins' hand falls away. Real men don't grip each other tightly, or touch for more than what's necessary.

His mind flashes back to the image of Lizzie in this very room just six precious hours ago. Her sarcasm and edge can't hold a candle to Matlock's generosity or Bingley's permanent optimism - but he still wishes she were here instead of the boys.

"Sorry about the cloud," Bingley apologizes from across the room. Jane Bennet is already walking up to his side.

Today's mission wasn't hard, supposedly. If he had been half as alert as his usual self, they wouldn't even have needed the two hours they actually spent. It was his fault - or, more accurately, Wickham's.

Darcy groans and turns around. He's greeted by stares that carry varying degrees of concern. The only good thing to have come of the entire situation is Selenop feeling he's a little too broody for her tastes.

Life has its small comforts, sometimes.

One thought of Gia and her currently unknown state chases away any remotely funny feelings he may have had. His sister is in danger - grave danger.

And he somehow can't do anything about it.

"Darce, you need that drink?" Richard's removed his helmet by now, all boyish curls in display. The girls used to fawn over that. Marianne shut them up.

"No, I'm fine," is all Darcy answers.

He turns back towards the now-messy table. He plants his fists on its unforgiving surface.

"Have you guys seen Elizabeth?" Jane Bennet, sounding as girly as ever, asks across the room. Darcy almost scoffs.

She's not here. He chased her away. He scared her by revealing how much he trusts her.

Leave it to him to be as much of a lady magnet as a lady repellant.

"Did she tell you anything, Colonel?" Bingley asks, voice and tone both very plain. Darcy can hear him kissing his girlfriend both before _and_ after each line he says.

Darcy rolls his eyes.

"She messaged about a personal leave." Matlock's new piece of information has Darcy leaning just a little further to hear him. "Said she might take a week."

The simple revelation of an entire week's leave has Darcy frowning.

Where could she have gone?

When Lizzie, in all her Agent B sass, had spun away this morning, he had been shocked still - for a little too long. By the time he approached her throne of panels, he'd been thoroughly locked out; and no amount of banging or coaxing or shouting could help him unlock the damn thing.

He sometimes doesn't know to be happy or not about The Citadel's level of security.

"If you guys aren't doing anything else, we're headed for lunch," Bingley chirps happily. He doesn't wait long for an answer before he leaves, arm hooked solidly around his girl. Selenop trails behind them.

It's Darcy and his cousin - in a largely deserted room.

"So - anything I need to know about?" Matlock doesn't let it go, but at least his approach is friendly. "Secret mistress? Bankrupting bets? I'll take your side against any gangster, you know?"

"It's Gia." Darcy sighs. His cousin stiffens right away.

"What happened to her?"

"Abduction?"

" _Abduction_?"

"Well - sort of."

"When?"

"Last night."

"Then why did you - "

"I don't know where she is."

"How did you - "

"I told _her_."

"Gia?"

"Lizzie."

Both men fall silent at the simple admission.

Matlock nods understandingly. "You had her hack whatever you knew."

"Yes."

"And?"

Darcy sighs forcefully now, brow deepening into a thousand future wrinkles. "She found Gia."

"So go get her!"

"I don't know where."

"I do." Lizzie's clear-cut voice appears at the door. They both turn to face her.

She's dressed casually - ruggedly, even. Her backpack is swung over one shoulder.

"Can't go without packing." She smirks. " So I did."

* * *

She feels an odd surge of confidence when she marches towards the two dumbfounded men. Powers beside, she likes to think she can be as strong and witty and powerful as they are.

"Don't ask and I won't tell." She hands the glossy new ID and file to Darcy. She keeps her voice level, all business. "Lindsey Barrett and Wallace Daniels are moving in together and just checking out the newest apartments in Brooklyn - what with Manhattan prices being the way they are. They signed up for their one-month lease this morning, and they're just looking around to observe the area - _not_ to sniff around."

She sees Darcy frowning at the file. His cousin frowns too, albeit less harshly.

"The lease is on both their names - a new commitment of sorts," she continues. It's the best cover they could come up with - and she wasn't about to let Darcy deny its practicality after begrudgingly yielding to the idea herself. Her pride won't be able to take _that_ much of his snobby-ness. She hooks her thumbs on her belt straps. "If the landlord wants to check their background - social security and all - he'll find just enough to satisfy him. No criminal record for either, but high-scoring transcripts are aplenty. My parents are assured that I'm off for a week in Florida. I got the digitally-altered photos to prove it. You?"

She stares at Darcy, refusing to flinch for even a little. His frown grows harsher with every line of the file he reads. She wonders, momentarily, if he thinks she's entrapping him in something.

"No contract or anything here, btw," she softens her voice a little. She shrugs, adrenaline cooling. "I'm just trying to help. If we extract your sister within the week, I'll head back sooner - no strings attached. I won't, like, send you my hotel bill or whatever."

Darcy meets her eyes then. She stares back calmly.

She waits for him to protest - or to launch into his own Ivy League version of 'I told you so.' She knows he's probably dying inside with the thought that he'll be rooming with _her_ , a Plebian non-carrier.

She sighs loudly. "Look, Darcy, I didn't have that much time, alright? I couldn't just - "

"You said extract," he cuts her off. His eyes remain completely still. His mouth barely moves.

Is Darcy a closet ventriloquist?

"Extract your sister Gia - yes." Lizzie nods.

"You believe that she's held by force," he goes on, voice hinting at a tiny bit of emotion.

She licks her lips, shrugs. "I checked her records. Your worry adds up. She lives within a ten-block radius every single day and never even wandered near the edge until George Wickham showed up a few weeks ago. She calls or texts you every day to check in. Protective as you are, she seems to be okay with it. It doesn't make sense that she will just up and gone and transfer to an entirely new location."

"You tracked my sister?"

"You have a problem with that?"

"No." He lowers his head. She feels a little guilty for raising her voice.

Beside them, Matlock shuffles.

Lizzie sighs. "In case you want to know, Wickham hasn't even been in state since December."

"He's not supposed to be," Darcy growls.

Lizzie shrugs.

For a few weighty seconds, all is still.

"I take it you two are going to want to take a break from the team?" Matlock speaks, the natural socializer.

Lizzie looks at him, feeling rather guilty for having ignored him all this time. Her smile is kind, weak. "I've been the girl in the chair for a while. Let me off this time?"

Matlock grins. It occurs to her that _she_ may have been the one to interrupt this cousinly reunion.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Just a week, boss." She smiles. Then she doesn't. "At least - I hope that's all it'll take."

The Colonel nods. Lizzie smiles at him one last time before transferring her attention back to the victim's brother.

"Nothing like a girl to understand another one. I'll help you figure her out, okay?"

Darcy smiles, and there's suddenly a sliver of hope that her rejection earlier today has been forgiven in the light of her willingness now.

Not that she needs his forgiveness, of course.

"Thanks, boss," Darcy says at Matlock.

The big man smiles grimly and nods.

She stands still until Darcy faces her.

There's a blend of emotions in his eyes - worry, determination, hopefulness, fear.

"Let's go," he says.

"Right this way, sir," she replies.

* * *

"Not tough at all without Miragem." Bingley pants when he lands on the platform, still smiling. He'll do without his buddy and brother-in-arms, but only under duress. "Any reason he's up and gone today?"

Caroline folds her wings beside him. Jane's running towards him. Matlock smirks and leans back towards the non-existent wall.

Large, round, landing spaces in hollow penthouses aren't exactly suave-friendly.

Bingley relishes the way Jane folds into his arms.

"Thank God your'e okay!" She's sobbing, soft hair shaking beside his chin.

He kisses the side of her hair. His hand rubs her white-clad back. "I'm fine. No worries. Instant ice makes a pretty decent armor."

Caroline scoffs - still in a very obviously foul mood after missing Darcy all day.

"Colonel - any word on Miragem?" Bingley asks over Jane's shoulder. The shaking has subsided a tad. "Red Show didn't go down easy. We could've used a hand with someone to sneak up on him unseen."

"He's - busy." Matlock's smile is armed. He looks down at his armored feet. "He'll be back in a week."

"A week?" Jane slides out from Bingley's embrace. His hands stay on her waist. His girlfriend's frowning - adorably, of course. "But that's what Lizzie said too."

It takes a few seconds to sink in.

"Do you think they went somewhere together?" Bingley asks, a little bewildered. "I mean, he was just here this morning. I know they don't get along and all but the timing is just - "

"Come on, that's impossible!" Caroline's scoff is loud, condescending. It's a chore to be her sister sometimes. "Why would Darcy head out with _the intern_ , of all people. The idea is preposterous!"

"She's my sister, and she's not an intern." Jane's voice is imploring. Bingley holds her even closer when she looks down, blinking rapidly. "I'm just - worried. I don't know if anyone could have - Matlock?"

The room feels empty when only three people turn towards their leader.

"Do _you_ know where Lizzie is?" Jane asks, clear and simple.

The Colonel sighs, hands hovering near non-existent pockets. His voice is low, firm.

"Agent B - and Miragem, for that matter - should be back in a week."

* * *

 _A/N: My heartfelt thanks to anyone who has been following, reading, or reviewing this story! I have been feeling depressed recently over the harsh reviews people have been leaving on my stories here and on Amazon. I try my best to write well, but is my work really that horrific? I'm losing motivation to write, and I am so tempted just to cancel my account here. In additional to this, we just learned this week as well that we have miscarried our first child after more than five years of trying. People like you - who stick with me and my imagination - mean so much! Your friendship - in big and small ways - help me get through the tough times. Thank you so, so much._


	5. Chapter 5

"That was uncalled for!"

The cloud forms ominously, crisp and crackling, all around Gale Lord. His sister marches on, unrelenting.

"Caroline!"

Richard feels his own chest filling with water just watching Bingley's precipitous movements.

It's a wonder Selenop doesn't feel it.

Today wasn't their best - it can't be without Miragem's stealth and Bennet's overwatch. The team is making do, tiding over. Micro was supposed to be an easy villain, just a recess crammer.

Incompletion is crippling, he's learned quickly.

Gale Lord's learned too. It's his sister that's the problem.

"Caroline!" Bingley barely stops for his customary welcome home by the ever-elegant Jane Bennet. His hand hooks around her waist to pull them forward as a duo, limping on. "Caroline!"

By the time Richard gets to sigh for real, he sighs to a vastly empty room.

His hands find the iron railing that surrounds the room's sunken center, taking care not to curve the slender iron. His eyes fall shut, his senses still recovering from another late night of screaming toddler. Little Jim is everything wonderful - and everything demanding.

"Selenop!" Down the hall, Bingley has already switched to work mode. Richard grimaces at the inevitable tantrum that looms three minutes away, tops.

Inviting Selenop had been a choice of convenience - something that seemed to stare him in the eye. She's family to a teammate and loves living in New York. She's born with flight, a skill the Alliance still didn't have on its roster. The ability was pretty commonplace, sure - not quite Marianne's poker card magic - but it sounded useful at the time.

It's the diva attitude coming _with_ the skill that should have been the deal-breaker.

With Bennet gone, it takes him a few seconds to call out just the right series of commands to shut down the platform. The AI greets him goodnight. He grimaces again at how early - and spectacularly horribly - the day has gone. Divas don't make good teammates.

He really should have known.

The last set of electronic doors shut tight behind him when he turns down the hallway and trudges towards the elevator. At the time of Marianne's choice to stay home and Caroline's sudden invite, the only thing that seemed wrong with Selenop was her insistent delusion over Darcy's non-existent affections. Sure, Charles and Jane found love on the team. The Colonel and The Dealsmith ended up married two years from the day they met.

It still doesn't mean Darcy would choose someone in the gang.

If anything, Darcy's persistence in keeping Gia a secret says more about his keen conviction regarding the separation between work and home. Caroline, if she has even twenty percent more IQ than her average day, should quit before any friendships get irreparably broken.

The noonday sun makes the glass elevator a certifiable greenhouse. Richard catches a glimpse of Brooklyn Heights.

Darcy's not the type to date at work.

But whether or not time spent with a colleague when _off_ work still counts as work - who's he to say?

* * *

He doesn't smile, not even a twitch of the lips, their entire time in the traffic deadlock. Sure, he's been chauffeured around all his life, but can't he at least _pretend_ this isn't disdainful for him?

She scoffs at herself for even hoping.

"Here you go!" She announces in her best 'voila' voice when she swings the door open, revealing a sparse one-bedroom bedroom. "It's the best I could do with three hours' notice. No complaints allowed."

She turns around, fists on hips. She tried hard to get this lease, made up entire identities within minutes. She'll never admit it out loud - but she'd like to think her choice of abode would at least please him a _little_.

He looks comical trying to squeeze through the door while maneuvering their luggage. Her tattered sports bag looks like it's been retrieved from a time capsule next to his shiny Rimowa. She tries not to think about it.

"You alright?" She's snappy - nervous, really. She's had to convince him of the need for subterfuge about five dozen times the entire way here. Invisibility wasn't right, she had to insist. They weren't going to successfully find his sister inside the giant glass blockade of a building by sneaking in undetected. They needed to enter in full view - that's the best place to hide.

"Not looking forward to the bed bugs," he grumbles before finally hauling all the stuff in. His towering height looks particularly imposing in the NYC-friendly-sized flat. He stands in the middle of the open space, eyes a haughty level way above her head. He crosses his arms. "I fail to see the need for renting a place. We are here to save my sister."

"Yes, _Wallace_ ," she lays it on thick with the code name. The eye roll comes without a second thought. "Most people aren't like you, sir - all five star hotel suites around the world. We have to act _normal_ to not get exposed."

"Normal is relative," he insists.

" _Very_ , actually." She grimaces. The desperate Darcy that earned her pity early this morning began disappearing about two minutes into their commute. Now, scowling Darcy is back - future wrinkles galore. "And it's _your_ relative we're trying to save now, aren't we?"

"I do not approve of the names."

"Right - code names sound _so_ petty to the great William Da - " She catches herself mid-word. She swallows when he sends her a condescending look.

It'll be a miracle if she gets out of here without scalping him alive.

She sighs before plopping down on the lone couch. She looks up, exasperated. "I agreed to save your sister - and I'm going to take the job as seriously as possible. If George Wickham is who you guys like to hint he is, then we can't let our guard down. Duplicity is a skill that just grows over time."

He grumbles - his form of agreeing, she supposes.

"Look, I know you don't like the way I'm pacing us. If it were up to you - we'd be up in arms and marching to her place with pitchforks and torches right away." She tries not to smile at the guilty way he looks. "But this moving in charade isn't just for show, okay? We need our neighbors convinced."

"Convinced that we are a couple?" He scoffs. "I fail to see why such arrangements would be necessary unless you hope, by some association, that a facetious relationship might become - "

"Watch it," she barks, standing up now. She can literally feel her head warming in anger. "I'm not a social climber. You know that."

"Do I?" He sighs loudly.

She stomps up to him, breath and patience thin. "I don't think you understand the situation here. _I_ am the one helping _you_."

"Against a fellow human."

"Excuse me?"

"George Wickham is not a carrier." His every word dripped of superiority, pride. "His _duplicity_ is nearly as bad as your pride."

" _My_ pride? Are you _kidding_ me? In what universe could I stand here next to you and have you - "

"This one," he says harshly, turning to meet her eye. She stares back, gaze level. Heat, anger whirls invisibly between them. " _I_ am the Hiro in this situation. I merely need Georgiana's address. You are the one who wished to _stay_ here."

His reversal of trust stings like a brand to her skin.

She blinks, fiercely.

"If you think you know better - then, go, by all means." She narrows her eyes. "She's right across the street, idiot."

She doesn't wait for his reply before slamming the bedroom door.

* * *

She barely hears the knock - but she does.

Hearing it results in having no excuse to ignore it.

She sighs loudly, half pain and half dissipating anger, before throwing it open.

She tilts her hip and plants a fist on it, aiming for the sassy heroine. The surprise on his face makes her think she's inadvertently made herself appear like a bratty child.

Frankly, it's not a good start.

"You - have a minute?" His olive branch is rough, rusty.

She swallows.

She tries to blink nonchalantly, tries very hard to pretend that this strain on their already-precarious, semi-work relationship isn't driving her nuts. She realizes a little belatedly that the way she's dressed - all pink and pretty - doesn't exactly give off the CEO chic vibe. Two hours isn't really enough time to recover from impulsive decisions.

"Yeah," she mutters under her breath. Her reciprocal olive branch is to step a little to the side, leaving him a straight path into the solitary bedroom.

She almost heaves a sigh of relief when he obligingly wanders in.

She closes the door quietly behind herself. Darcy has always had an imposing presence - towering just those few inches taller than even Matlock and his muscles. In this cramped excuse of an NYC apartment, he looks almost alien.

"I wish to extend an apology." His voice is low. His hands hold each other in front of his body, defensive but cool. "My urgency to locate my sister may have caused me to direct - undue blame."

She employs a sigh in place of the loud 'ya think?' her gut wants to throw his way. Their little altercation wasn't _exactly_ her finest moment.

"I'm sorry for - combusting." She whips her hands around in a pantomime explosion. She adds a small smirk. "I usually take a few hours to cool down after each time I lose my temper. Kudos to you for - 'making up' in half the time."

Her eyes are skittish - jumping all around the room from the bed to the floor to his face and back to the walls. She thinks she catches a small sigh from him too.

"I am in little position to oppose pride in others - when I have no small amount of it myself," he concludes solemnly.

For the next full moment, Lizzie feels _extra_ childish over her outbursts. The guys has lost track of his _sister_.

Wouldn't she go just as bonkers searching for Lydia or Jane?

"I'm sorry for shouting at you - and all that." She shrugs and frowns. "I'm - tired."

"I know."

She meets his eye then - just in time to see how hard he must be trying to keep his calm.

For the first time in a long time, Lizzie Bennet finds herself appreciating one small side to William Darcy.

"So - about Giana." She treads carefully, not missing the way his shoulders tense at the mention of his sister's name. She toes her way a little closer to him. Her hands try to find non-existent pockets in her fluffy, uncharacteristic dress. "What do you think is the keenest danger she's in now?"

"George Wickham," he answers right away. "He has always held a grudge against me ever since I refused to replace the scholarship money he's squandered away when we were twenty. He then pretended to be a carrier - falsified evidence until Richard, Charles, and I believed him. When we attempted our first joint mission, his lack of abilities interfered with our quest. We - "

He breathes in deeply. She watches him, a little spellbound.

He sighs loudly, sadly, before going on, "His profession of powers that he did not have caused us to neglect one attack of our enemy. The result of our neglect was the deaths of an entire family - grandfather, father, mother, child."

He closes his eyes briefly before opening them again. His haunted look runs from brow to chin to chest to toes.

Lizzie blinks, heaves, palpitates.

For all the grief she's given William Darcy, she - hacker extraordinaire - has never bothered to check _why_ he's so untrusting and dour.

"You believe he plans to harm you through your sister," she concludes for him. He nods.

She sighs just one more time before shaking off the cloud of emotions and snap back into professional form. She speaks quickly, crisply. "We have her right across the street. All clues point to her being kept on the sixth floor of the SC Tower. There is, surprisingly, no residential entry. All entry points are through the ground floor commercial properties. We'll have to pretend we're shopping."

"Hence the outfit."

"Hence the - " She stops when she realizes he's noticed. The blush she feels is completely unwelcome. She shuffles a little. "I, uhm, yes - there is a store called _Something Blue_. It sprawls over most of the first floor. The display windows and government records all note it as a high-end boutique. I had to - prepare."

She looks up shyly at him, feeling particularly feminine. He, thank goodness, nods in approval.

"Thank you, Lizzie." His voice is all sincerity.

She smiles weakly. "No problem. Anything for Gia."

* * *

"Wait," she urges him for the fifth time tonight. Her hand on his chest is as distracting as it is restraining. He makes sure to breathe evenly.

Sure, there's nothing stopping him from using his powers and escaping her determined line of sight in one go.

But, somewhere, somehow - his gut says trusting her is the best way to save his sister.

"Are you certain he'll leave the building?" He doesn't bother honoring Wickham by name.

Lizzie, posh and polished in her evening wear, looks almost amusing in her combative stance.

The nod he sends his way, at least, doesn't carry a single ounce of irony. "His digital pattern of behavior says he'll grab dinner across the street and stay there for at least 70 minutes each night. He'll even download a movie. If he has company, he might stay an extra hour or two."

He nods numbly, anxious and impressed.

The necessity of a cover has them standing with their bodies face to face, their heads slightly turned towards the bright lights of _Something Blue_ , its luminescent display windows nearly eclipsing the humble, metal-lettered "SC TOWER" above them. Their pose has him catching whiffs of Lizzie's perfume. His chest, tight from worry, grows tighter from all sorts of everything else.

"Camera footage hints at the probability of a baseball cap and letter jacket - followed by waxed hair and tuxedo. Random, I know." She rolls her eyes. Her lips shimmer. "Not all villains stay as cool as Maleficent."

For a moment, he almost smiles.

When all of Lizzie's best efforts still couldn't get them hacking into their security system, he knew something was up. There's no chance a regular building would aim for such high security.

Did Wickham own the whole thing? Was he working for an organization - domestic or international?

Most importantly - what did he want with Gia?

"There!" Lizzie's sharp whisper refocuses his attention. She's right, of course - the slimy figure sliding his way across the opposite street right now can't be anyone but Wickham.

No other creature on the planet radiates as much smug evil.

"Darcy," Lizzie barks. The hiro looks down just in time to feel and see her grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the boutique. It takes him a second to find his footing. The lights gentrify the place, but Brooklyn is - Brooklyn. "Hustle. Now."

He cooperates, because it's the smart thing to do - and they tumble towards the shop entrance with just the perfect balance between languidness and force. Strangers won't question. They would do what they wanted.

"Go," she shoves him from the back at the first sign of a degenerated fire escape ladder. He sticks by her side.

Case or not case, William Darcy is a gentleman. Gentlemen don't invite platonic female colleagues to join them on personal missions only to abandon them. Gentlemen don't stand body-to-body with a lady and pretend it never happened. Gentlemen don't -

"Hi, welcome!" The peppy sales girl marches up to them, heels clicking and fake hair glistening, her arms open wide. "Welcome to _Something Blue_! Could we get your wedding date? We have _just_ the suppliers you're looking for. I promise!"

 _Something Blue -_ right, of course.

Lizzie freezes on his arm. It's a surprise to her too.

"Hi, I'm Wallace Daniels." He shakes the lady's hand, taking care to use a loose grip. "This is my fiancée, Lindsey."

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you so, so much to everyone for your outpouring of love and support. I have so much more motivation to write because of you! To all the guest reviewers, I'm sorry I can't reply personally to you. I hope the rest of this story will prove enjoyable for all. You guys are the best! I know Lizzie should be smarter than not realizing "Something Blue" is not a high-fashion boutique - but let's just play along :)_


	6. Chapter 6

"Hi, I'm Wallace Daniels." Darcy takes the rep's hand, on top of things despite it all. "This is my fiancée, Lindsey."

Lizzie's smile - faced with could-I-have-him-instead dagger-like stares from Miss Wedding Coordinator - falls a little flat.

"Nice to meet you." She extends her left hand anyway.

"Cathy." The sales-person smiles back, eyes darting back to Darcy every two seconds. It's frankly a little annoying.

"Like my secretary," Darcy says - because his inability to read the room doesn't melt away _that_ fast.

"I'll be happy to serve." Miss Cathy's wink is outrageously unprofessional. Her clients are supposed to be _engaged_ , for peace's sake. "Anything you prefer from our services, sir?"

Darcy's arm tenses. Lizzie finds herself a little unreasonably pleased.

"Do you offer _all_ related services?" Lizzie is quite resolved to regain her rightful bridal attention. "My - fiancée and I would love to see how I look in one of your - original gowns."

Her smile remains incongruent with the panic in her mind.

She's frankly a _little_ worried about keeping her job after this.

"Ah, do you have a date yet?" Cathy and her long, slim skeptical legs don't make the show easier to pull off. Her eyes glance ostentatiously at Lizzie's left hand. "Our clients usually _already_ have a ring - but there might be - exceptions."

There's really no rightful cause for it - but Lizzie feels inexplicably embarrassed. She fidgets slightly, shifting and thinking. Give her a program to hack any day and she'll find it easier than this unforeseen undercover work.

"My mother's ring is being resized, unfortunately." Darcy the social hero is back, apparently. Lizzie looks up towards him gratefully. Darcy, to her great astonishment, is _smoldering_. "I wish they could add rubies faster."

"Rubies," Cathy the Petulant echoes. "Not a popular choice - "

"It works wonders with her hair." Darcy hasn't looked away. Lizzie's forgotten the last time she breathed. Yes, sure, she's seen William Darcy date a few girls here and there. She's always heard about the fiasco of the famed Bingley-Jane-Darcy-Caroline double date. She's caught a few tabloid photos of a young girl on his arm.

Now that she thinks about it, the girl was probably Gia.

Now that she remembers Gia, it's a little hard to rationalize wasting time basking in Darcy's unexpectedly heated gaze.

"I, uhm - where's the men's room here?" Lizzie reluctantly diverts her line of vision back to their impatient coordinator. "Wi - Wallace has been talking about going for - ages."

She fake giggles pretty badly, she learns a little late.

"Yes, I should go." Darcy squeezes her hand and offers up another smoldering grin. It's disconcerting how easily he's slipped into the role. "Line up those gowns for me, will you? You know what I like."

They share a knowing look before Darcy slips away towards the nearest internal door. It's almost a coincidence that the men's room is _actually_ that way.

"So - what silhouette are you doing?" Cathy's not too pleased.

Lizzie is confused - and not about the silhouettes.

* * *

The bright, white glare of artificial light doesn't faze him, and he makes quick work of the counters and displays until he's slipping out the metal door. The knob is loose, hinting at common use. Given Lizzie's observations on George Wickham's daily habits, he's not overly surprised.

"Excuse me," Darcy mumbles when a janitor slips by.

He takes a moment, just until Mr. All-in-Gray is on the other side of the corner, before applying his powers.

On his end, the difference isn't life-changing. He acts the same and moves the same. He's not any stronger or wiser or smarter under the guise of invisibility. His S gene doesn't give him any peripheral strengths to his primary ability. He's still William Darcy. He's still looking for his sister.

It's the change in how people treat him that's miraculous and strange.

Low murmurs echo down the hallway, and he promptly makes a right. With every step he takes, his surroundings get just that bit more drab and bare. Lizzie's told him to make sure he's moving west, towards the neglected back stairwell. He's making sure he complies.

"Over here?"

A casual conversation has him pressing himself against the wall.

If there's anything worse than being asked to display his powers for fun, it's wasting them by bumping into people who hadn't seen him in the first place.

Shuffling footsteps accompany the sound of clicking heels - until both sets of sounds taper away.

Darcy sighs thankfully.

The tentative assurance Lizzie's partnership had brought him over Gia's condition starts to melt away by the minute. The bright commercial facade, traded in for single-lightbulb hallways, feels farther and farther away.

He's never been the type to dislike solitude.

But when his sister's well-being hangs in the balance, sole responsibility doesn't feel quite as attractive.

Two more turns and five more minutes land him in front of the metal door labeled 'West Stairwell' at last. He pushes with his shoulder, avoiding any chance of leaving any sort of trace. The chilly air hits him instantly. He's grateful again - a month from Thanksgiving - that his appearances didn't change by temperature.

He plants each step carefully, willfully avoiding detection by sound. He slides up the steep metal staircase as quickly and quietly as he can. In his mind, he sees Gia - curled up and neglected. He sees her tattered clothes and bloody face. He sees what Lizzie's camera hacks can't see. He _knows_ she's being held against her will.

His sister won't agree to stay with Wickham any other way.

"Argh!" He topples backwards down the stairs. His fall doesn't break until he's touched the landing.

He pushes himself up, speedily, urgently. A few quick blinks helps him mentally rearrange what just happened. He glances upwards, towards the spot on top of this flight of stairs. There's a disturbance - a glow. The air shifts and drifts. There's an energy disturbance, a barrier.

He walks up slowly this time, eyeing the edge warily. He reaches a hand out to try it - and feels himself flung back again. He glares at the humming barrier for two more seconds before something hits him hard.

He sees his hand.

He sees both his hands.

He watches the oscillating surface with newfound understanding.

The barrier was made for him - against him. George Wickham, the man who feigned genetics, has made a way to bar any other carrier from entering.

It's both hilarious and devastating to realize the truth.

What would Lizzie say?

* * *

"Lindsey," he tries to say it softly, kindly. What actually comes out is an awkward tone in between constipated and afraid. "Lindsey."

He runs the last few steps, just until he turns the corner to face the fitting room the other two dreamy-eyed coordinators pointed towards.

"Linds - " Her name - fake or otherwise - falls dead on his lips. His lungs constrict until there's no choice except to hold his breath. The snowy white fabric, billowing and ebbing in generous ruffles around her hips until they end a foot before his feet, frame her angelically. He blinks, dumbstruck.

"Wallace?" Her voice is saccharine - affected. Her smile is a little more sincere. "Is everything alright?"

He blinks again - before a sudden rush of air arrests his lungs like flooding waters. He heaves a few times.

"Too pretty?" Lizzie squints. Her grin is halfway between sheepish and outright painful.

"Yes - very." He gets a hold of himself - and serves up a lovestruck smile.

He needs to thank Lizzie later for keeping a cap on the eye roll.

She's intuitive by nature, and even the fake romance doesn't throw her off. His smile turns real, turns relieved, when he welcomes her quick approach with open arms.

"You look - breathtaking," he manages before she - lifted skirts and all - presses close to him. He holds her tight, right on cue.

"Is she okay?" Her breathlessness can easily be interpreted as bridal nerves.

"I couldn't get her. There's a - barrier." He breathes into her ear. Any other time, this embrace would be something to dissect for the next twelve days.

Tonight, for now, it's all business.

"Oh." The disappointment in her voice is echoed by a falling chest. He tightens his hold by the fraction of an inch. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

He doesn't manage to whisper any more.

"Mr. Daniels, Ms. Barrett," Cathy, long forgotten, interrupts. He lets Lizzie go regretfully. They both turn to face the inevitable fury of a not-sincerely-happy wedding industry employee. "Shall we go with this one?"

It takes a minute for Darcy to realize she means the dress.

Lizzie pulls back from him. Her face looks a little rosier than usual. He wonders, momentarily, what the unusual coloring means.

"I think I'd like to see a few more. Can we come back tomorrow?" Lizzie answers Cathy.

"This one's great." His answer is different from hers. Lizzie looks up, eyes wide. He glances quickly at the way the strapless dress shows off her shoulders, highlights her curves, and frames her limbs. It doesn't take much thinking to say what he says next: "Please reserve this one for us."

"Wallace, we - "

"We just need the initial two thousand dollars to set up your account." Cathy moves quick. He pulls Lizzie closer. "Any charges, including the gown reservation, will be deducted accordingly."

"Got it. Please charge it to - "

He finds Lizzie staying his hand - just before his fingers fish out his wallet. He meets her eyes. She frowns.

"Right, about that - " He blinks away the short-lived delusion that he's _actually_ planning his wedding. He sports a civil smile. "Let me write a cheque."

* * *

 _A/N: I hope you liked the fake dating! I know the Gia plot line had very little progress in this chapter, but I couldn't resist the fluff. Darcy sees Lizzie in a wedding dress! Please, do indulge me. Thank you for reading!_


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey."

She usually hates being called that way - usually when it's uttered by chauvinistic pigs all her life.

Today, coming from him like a gentle plea, she's starting to rethink her stances.

"Hey, Darce." She turns from her spot on the sofa to offer him a small, hesitant smile. "Did you sleep well?"

He lets loose a sound that's both a groan and a scoff. His hand scratches the back of his head. "You didn't have to drug me to get the couch, you know. I know I've accused you of some ugly stuff, but I know you mean well and I - "

"NyQuil isn't drugging. You had a headache," she retorts softly. The lingering guilt of not discovering how a store called _Something Blue_ just had to be a bridal shop still nags at her conscience. As attempts to prove her innocence go, she hasn't really been doing that good of a job.

She lowers her head, thinking and frowning.

For a moment this morning, she _almost_ managed to convince herself that taking the couch last night was penance enough.

With Darcy looking this tired, disheveled, and lost in front of her - she's quickly realizing the tiny sacrifice isn't remotely sufficient.

"I've tried to analyze what you probably ran into," she switches to work, her S.O.P. defense against emotions. Her fingers gesture towards her open laptop screen. Her back is still complaining, cracking its every vertebrae at her hunching over a coffee table all morning. "The fact that it's invisible probably means it's made out of stanconium. I've heard of it, read about it - never thought anyone would be able to amass enough to make an actual wall out of it."

"Stanconium?" He walks over until he's right beside her before crouching down to eye level. His bodily scent is heavy in the morning. It's not a scent she'll readily forget.

Lizzie fakes away her smile with a sigh. "Yes, stanconium is an artificial substance created specifically by Robert Stancolm to limit the effects of a carrier. I've heard of traces of it being found in certain supervillain weapons. This is the first time I've heard of it as infrastructure."

"What does it do?"

"In theory, it was originally conceived as a means to limit S gene powers. Hiros are fine and all - but some people worried about powers being left unchecked. I mean, it _is_ America."

"I see."

"Yes, exactly." She breathes sharply when he leans closer to the screen and, inadvertently, closer to her. "George Wickham and whoever he's working with has managed to do business that leads them to Stancolm's creations."

"And where is this Stancolm guy?"

"He's - dead." Lizzie shrugs when Darcy frowns at her. "He was a carrier himself - a carrier who was obsessed with being the best and beating other people. In the end, his own wife couldn't take it anymore and murdered him in his sleep."

Darcy nods slowly. She waits for the story to sink in.

"Morbid," he says.

"Very," she agrees.

"Is there a way to stop it?" Darcy stands up gradually. There's a keen sense of loss when his scent and warmth waft away.

"Stop the stanconium?"

"The barrier - yes."

"So we can get to Gia."

"Yes."

Lizzie almost flinches at the thought of having forgotten their real goal for one split second. Darn you, William Darcy.

"You couldn't get even a finger through?" She asks honestly, trying to reconstruct last night's events in her mind. Trying on wedding dresses may not have been as exciting, but she really thought she'd bought him enough time to save Gia.

It was disappointing to come back to their apartment with nothing more than a reservation slip.

"Not at all - visible or invisible," Darcy answers. His arms are crossed now, as is his face.

Lizzie nods and sighs. "I'll have to go with you."

"Excuse me?"

"Stanconium doesn't affect a non-carrier. That's probably how Wickham leaves every day in full view of everything and everyone. I can slip in and save Gia."

"I can't ask you to - "

"You can give me a note," she thinks aloud. "If she realizes that I'm with you, extracting her should be relatively easy."

"Is it safe?"

"Passing through stanconium?"

"Yes - I mean, no - just in general. Wickham won't leave his fort unattended."

Lizzie shrugs again. It's hard to argue with someone who _does_ know the individuals involved better than she does.

"I've checked for other points of entry." She looks at her laptop again. Its multitude of blue and green dots looks eerily high-tech inside the shabby apartment. "None of them really work. Even the fire exit is fake. The stairs you took last night were the only way up."

"And thoroughly barred."

"Yes, unfortunately." She sighs again. Aching for a little more level ground, she stretches and pulls up to her feet. "I brought tactical gear. I've never really been on the field before this, but The Colonel is never too prepared."

"Matlock gave you a suit?"

"Don't look _that_ surprised, Miragem." She smirks. "When you think of girls, think Marianne - not Caroline Bingley."

The face Darcy makes is all she needs to feel a little better about herself.

"I'll write the note," he says after a few seconds. She's grateful he agrees. "But, just in case, I'll come with you. Once you pass through the barrier, try to find a switch. Maybe we can both talk to her together."

"I'll be your scout?"

"I'll be honored if you agree."

"You sure you'd rather not be trying out tuxedos?"

"And let Cathy get her claws on me? I'd much rather not."

Lizzie can't help the smile.

"Then go shower now." She shoves him towards the bedroom. "We leave once Wickham does too."

* * *

Where last night was all glitz and glamor, tonight is all subtlety and stealth.

It took two whole hours out of their afternoon to find the _exact_ janitorial uniforms Darcy approved. The price tags were ludicrous, and the fits disgusting. She rolled her eyes for half of the time.

But right now, blending in the way they are in the eerily cool hallways, she finds herself having to give him at least a little credit.

"Here," he whispers in her ear. She pretends she didn't shiver.

His touch on her elbow is light yet determined - everything professional. She complies with his navigation.

"Good evening," the fellow janitor smiles and nods at them at the final corner. The fully-loaded cart in front of him gives them at least an excuse to greet him back from a few yards away. "New to the area?"

Lizzie spots the name tag. He's supposed to be a _tiny_ bit higher in rank than they are pretending to be.

"Good evening," Darcy says curtly.

Lizzie elbows him.

"Loosen up, bro," she snaps playfully. "We just started yesterday, sir."

The old guy's eyes narrows. She waits, fake smile in place.

"No fraternizing, alright?" Their instant boss talks, his hands folding rags with the efficiency of a Japanese factory. "Keep an eye on your brother. Those looks might break up an engagement or two."

She knows for a fact that Darcy would rather be invisible right now.

"Yes, sir." She tries to stay chipper. "We were sent for the spill at the - stairway?"

"Go." The same beady eyes point their way out for them.

"Thank you, sir. We'll get right to it."

"Right to it," Darcy adds.

She holds her breath and her smiles until the foot of the stairs are _finally_ beneath their feet.

Darcy's loud exhale indicates something similar on his part.

"Are you okay?" She asks, all camaraderie. "That was - a surprise."

"It was good that he did not notice we do not carry tools."

She looks down at their empty hands sheepishly. "Yeah."

"Thank you, Lizzie. You are a good partner."

She meets his eyes, feeling uncommonly grateful. "You don't compliment much."

"Only when it's deserved."

There's something about janitorial garb, she decides, that makes men strangely attractive.

He clears his throat a minute later - and she quickly pulls away.

"Is it that?" She gestures to the top of the stairs. The glistening surface is obvious - a sheer but noticeable disturbance.

"Yes," he answers. She's surprised to feel him take her hand. "Be careful."

She nods at him, quickly extracting her fingers thereafter.

"I'll head up first. You stand guard." She's on the third step by the time she finishes talking.

The staircases are pretty textbook. There are no bumps or unusual material.

Still, her heart thumps a little too hard.

She stretches a hand out first, fingertips dancing on the surface. The barrier is warm - humming dangerously. She swallows.

Calling on recesses of bravery she's never really needed in the Tower, she lets her fingers through.

The air cuts instantly for her - the line of warmth moving smoothly up the arm she's inserting through the portal. She moves faster now, unafraid. When her whole arm passes through unscathed, her body follows.

"Lizzie - yes."

Darcy's right behind her when she steps completely through. She whips around to face him. He looks hopeful - eager. She nods firmly.

"You coming in?" She asks.

"If possible." She can hear the weight of his breath and heart. The way a thin layer of moving air separates them could be considered romantic, in another time and place.

She nods sharply before spinning around to take in her surroundings.

The stairs don't change much before and after Wickham's carrier barrier. If not for Darcy's pure panic yesterday and full compliance today, she might even have doubted the gateway was anything more than an optical illusion.

She spots the keypad quickly and runs over. Her eyes and fingers move - one skimming and the other imagining possible sequences.

"The most worn numbers are seven, zero, five, and one." She doesn't need to look at Darcy to talk to him. "What could that mean?"

"Zero, seven, one, five," Darcy recites back. He sounds almost sad. "It's the day he was expelled from the Alliance."

Lizzie nods clinically. In the distance, the squeaking wheels of a fast-approaching cart accompany the sound of middle-aged footsteps. She tenses.

"Lizzie."

"Yes, I'm on it." She frowns as she hacks away on the thin cage surrounding the keypad. God have mercy if there's an alarm.

"Lizzie - "

"Yes, wait."

The metal gives way five hits and four bloody fingertips later. She punches in the numbers, careful to use her clean hand.

The footsteps pound louder. Darcy breathes louder too.

Quickly, but almost not quickly enough, the barrier melts and the humming sound suspends. Darcy dashes over, almost ramming her straight against the wall. Her hands catch his elbows just before they both collapse. The barrier snaps back, its buzzing even louder than before.

The tip of the cart peeks over the edge of the corner.

"Thank you." Darcy's quick.

"No problem." Lizzie is too.

They don't even ask for permission when they join hands and run.

* * *

"Gia!" He barks into each empty room they clear. "Gia!"

Occasionally, he finds Lizzie's hand on his arm - reassurance and sedation in one. He doesn't quite know how he feels about that.

"Gia!" He calls into the fourth empty room in the hallway. The hoarseness in his voice is quickly turning from forced whisper to genuine despair.

"We'll find her." Lizzie checks the screen on her arm. In her tactical gear, the girl's an even better tech wonder.

He nods blindly.

"Careful, wait - " Lizzie stops him from barging into the last room. He's shaking from crown to toe.

With every last drop of self-control, he waits for Lizzie's hand-held device to clear the proximity of potential explosives.

"Okay, go." She opens the door. He's ready with both gun and heart.

Unlike the other rooms and their pin lights and shelves, this one is dimly lit by a table lamp - a table lamp dangerously perched on a dilapidated nightstand beside the frightened girl on the bed.

"Gia!" He dashes towards her without a second though and gathers her up in his arms. "Gia!"

He's crying tears of relief against her shoulder. She feels cold and stiff in his arms.

"Gia." He pulls back to check her, just to make sure she's alright. "Gia, your hands are so cold. Your face - did he hurt you? Are you alright?"

Warnings start to rise from the recesses of his mind. There was something Lizzie said about Gia coming willingly. There's the fact that the stanconium barrier downstairs can't stop Gia from actually leaving.

He ignores all the signs.

"Gia." He's smiling now - just happy to see her alive. He cradles her head like a child. "Gia, it's okay. We're here to save you."

"Darcy." He feels Lizzie's voice and hand at the same time. Having someone else answer him reminds him that Gia still hasn't. "Darcy, watch."

He doesn't move, but he does observe the way Lizzie moves her hand in front of Gia's eyes, the way her agent fingers snap to make sounds in the air.

"Darcy." Lizzie sounds nervous. He doesn't like that. "She's catatonic."

He inhales sharply. No - he can't believe it.

His eyes and hands roam his sister's face.

Lizzie's right - the face on top of the ill-fitting, plaid pajamas is unresponsive. The features are Gia's, but Gia's not there.

"Hey," he leans down to whisper at her. His hands rest gently on her shoulders. "Everything's gonna be all right. We'll take you home, okay?"

For one split second, he sees a spark of recognition in Gia's large, grey eyes. Then she mentally recoils again.

"Gia - "

"Darcy, we can't keep at this. Wickham will come back." Lizzie sits down on the bed, on Gia's other side. She glances at the younger girl quickly before looking back at him. "Can you carry her?"

A forced physical removal was something he hadn't really thought of - but his partner's right.

This _is_ the way to go.

"Yes, let's go," he agrees. He stands up and turns himself to the best vantage point of scooping Gia's small frame up in his arms.

"No."

Darcy - and Lizzie - stare at their damsel in distress.

"Gia?"

"No." His sister looks up slowly until she meets him in the eye. "I won't go."

* * *

 _A/N: I hope this update was interesting enough for everyone! I find it really hard to write a modern Darcy. I am so impressed at everyone who manages to do it so well._


	8. Chapter 8

"What did she even mean?" Darcy collapses on the dilapidated couch, feeling a hundred years old. He runs his hand over his face and hair.

"It's probably Wickham - he did something to her." Lizzie perches on the arm of the couch he's occupying. It's funny how dainty she can be with effort. She looks down on her lap. "Her stare looked blank. She's - under some influence."

"He drugged her?" He turns sharply, angry at Wickham and knowing he shouldn't be angry at Lizzie.

He's failing pretty badly despite the effort.

"Maybe? I - I honestly don't know, Darce. I'm sorry."

She _does_ look sorry. He feels guilty - for Gia and for her.

The guilt manifests in even more fidgeting, more huffing, and more suppressed tears.

He stares down at the floor through the gap between his spread thighs. His arms fall helplessly on both sides of his visual window. What did Gia mean? What did she want - did Wickham want?

"At least she's here," Lizzie offers beside him.

He looks towards her, a little slowly.

"Yeah."

"And she's sleeping," she adds.

"Yeah."

He doesn't even stop her when her hands soothe his back. Staying here was her idea. It was late - she said. It was suspicious to leave the apartment. It would be a sure clue to Wickham.

He was too tired to argue.

"Did she eat?" He asks, throat tight, a minute later. He leans back against the couch; the back of his head grazes the scratched wallpaper. Lizzie's hand regretfully falls away.

"Just a bite," Lizzie answers dutifully.

In the back of his mind, he's starting to realize just how much he owes his partner.

It's not every day that your tech gal pays your rent, packs your clothes, and buys you take-out deli dinner.

"Thanks for convincing her." He turns Lizzie's way. Even the grandest attempt only yields a tiny smile. "I - I don't know how to thank you."

He sees her swallow, her neck turning downwards right after. It's honestly a little tempting to tuck the hair behind her ears.

He feels particularly oversized for the tiny apartment.

"Every girl has had her share of smooth-talking, good-for-nothing men." He can tell she's trying to sound nonchalant. He's not sure if she is. "I was just - trying to find common ground."

"I hope she believed you," he says. He does hope it - wholeheartedly.

Even now, the words 'I won't go' make him hyperventilate.

"I hope so too." Lizzie smiles, one-sidedly. She glances at him sideways - just her very feminine profile. "I mean - she doubted enough to come with us, at least."

"At least - yeah." He goes back to frowning at his shoes. Yielding the one-and-only bed and bath to the girls meant that they're in pajamas now, while he's still wearing his full gear.

"You want to shower? Maybe freshen up a bit?"

It's like she's reading his mind.

He nods gratefully. Then he turns his body towards the best angle to stand up and -

"Oh, sorry!" She steps back instantly. His chest is still tingling from the collision.

She's smiling.

It's adorable.

"I - I thought you'd go the other way," she says, sounding sheepish. He throws out any potential accusation that she's making moves at him.

Not that he would care if she did - it's just - not right to say that.

He tries to smile apologetically too. "I should have checked where I was going."

"I guess." She chuckles softly. "Not trying to cop a feel, of course."

The mere mention, however jokingly, that he _would_ have done that throws his barely-realized feelings into confusion.

She's Lizzie Bennet, genius extraordinaire. She wouldn't be like other gold-digging women - right?

"She agreed to go back, by the way."

He almost didn't notice Lizzie's talking.

"Gia?" He meets her eye again, trying hard to be professional.

"Yeah, I kinda - convinced her to. I mean, I'm sorry for assuming, of course, that you would want that."

He thinks she's trying to be professional too - but he doesn't know how he feels about that.

He gulps and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Of course. That's no problem. She should - come home."

"She needs you."

"I don't know if I can - "

"She thinks she's in love with a bad man. She needs to feel the love of a good one."

"I couldn't even convince her to come _here_! I'm a brother who doesn't have the most _remote_ idea of how to - "

"Just - love her." She looks up towards him, and he thinks it's almost tenderness in her eyes. "She needs that."

He nods mutely, under her spell.

Then he realizes that he's _this_ close to kissing her - and excuses him for his shower.

* * *

It doesn't take long for life to resume its previous core existence.

The traffic headed into Manhattan is as bad as ever, the line at Starbucks as long as ever, and Miragem as invisible in real life as he is in the thick of the action. In her saner moments, she knows that their mutual ignoring at The Citadel is a good thing. She won't really benefit in any sort of way by being the girl who once dated - however falsely - the boss's cousin.

Still, they were friends - weren't they?

Still, his complete apathy hurts.

"Oops, sorry." She steps aside when her face-down contemplation has her crashing against his chest in the hallway. She only looks halfway up.

"It's fine. I'm sorry," he says curtly. Then he's gone.

She tries not to look at his distancing form like a lovesick girl.

She fails.

It's not that she liked him that much before. It did take her plenty of convincing to join his personal mission.

But seeing him take their love charade in stride, seeing him almost broken by his sister's rejection - it's almost as if he's human.

And humans deserve compassion, kindness - and love.

She swallows and looks down, pointedly ignoring the direction Selenop was prancing. She needs quietness and comfort. She needs her computers and their beautiful impassivity.

"You okay?" Matlock's always the perfect boss.

Far be it from her to be anything less than the perfect employee.

"Perfect," she replies. Snapping on to her seat of power is effortless. "I might stay the night, I think. The Jaguar may have fallen into our mighty clutches, but the Cobra's still at large."

Matlock smiles and nods. Being the consummate family man hasn't taken away any of his boyish charm. In another universe, where there's never been a black-haired, red-lipped, gene-carrier, all-legs Marianne Bai, Lizzie _may_ have considered dating him.

But all that speculation really is for moot.

"Don't set anything on fire, alright?" The Colonel, dressed down, shouts from the exit.

"No promises." Lizzie grins.

There's almost something karma-ish about it the whole thing.

One week ago, there was a victory party; tonight, just a few broken hopes. One week ago, she'd settle in for a happy night of undisturbed binge-watching; tonight, she's actually _hoping_ someone interrupts her.

She likes even less who that someone in her mind is.

"Lizzie?"

She turns to face Jane - Jane, the ever slim and starry-eyed.

"You were quiet throughout the mission today. Is everything alright?"

It's hard to dismiss Jane when she's being this motherly and sweet.

"It's disappointing not to get our guy, of course." Lizzie hates how rehearsed her answer is. "But, hey, you win some and lose some."

"And all your moping has nothing to do with your little staycation with Miragem."

"I don't _mope_!" Lizzie turns away, almost flipping her hair. The mere insinuation is offensive.

"But you do miss him, don't you?"

Lizzie looks downwards. It's one thing to keep up a cold front in front of Caroline Bingley.

It's a whole other thing to deny one's favorite sister confirmation that she's right.

"What happened during those few days?" Jane asks softly. Her hand lands on Lizzie's hair. Lizzie lets her stroke it. "I - I know I've been busy with Charles and all, but I still noticed, you know? You've been - different."

Lizzie almost laughs. 'Different' is a pretty mundane way to simplify things.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No! Of course - no, he was nice." Lizzie bites her lip.

"Did you complete your mission?"

"Yes, we did, I think. I mean - we did retrieve his sister."

Her words hang hollowly between them. The inadvertent admission is more relieving than Lizzie would like to admit.

"Was she nice? I mean, I'm sure she was."

It's amazing that Jane has even _entertained_ the idea of anyone _not_ being nice.

Lizzie smiles. "She was frightened, that's for sure. I just wish - I mean, if I had more time with her - "

"You didn't?"

Jane's frown is a painful reminder that she doesn't live with Lizzie anymore - that no matter how hard Lizzie tries, Charles Bingley is the new roommate and confidante.

"Yeah, we left - pretty soon." She remembers it vividly, from lending Gia her own clothes to dropping the siblings off at Darcy Tower. But, still, it feels far away. "I wish I knew how she's doing."

"Why not visit them?" Jane, of course, is always too nice to be practical.

"Visit them - in Darcy Tower?" Lizzie doesn't even avoid the scoff. "It's - it's practically the world's most secure building. You know that, right?"

"Not by _sneaking_ in." Jane has that pretty frown of not knowing if her sister is teasing or not.

Lizzie smiles, taps Jane's hand. "I'm kidding. I mean - I don't even know if they'd want me visiting. Darcy's been ignoring me _completely_ ever since we got back. I don't know why he likes to scowl that much, but I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be the reason he stops."

"Lizzie - "

"He hasn't invited me, okay? He's - private. The fact that he's kept Gia's entire existence a secret says that he'd rather not be bothered."

"Then why don't you ask?"

"Why don't I - " The protest dies on her lips.

For one long moment, Lizzie ponders if life really is as simple as Jane Bennet would like it to be.

"Like, just - _ask_?"

"You have his number, don't you?"

Lizzie frowns.

Is it really _that_ simplistic? Is _she_ the one complicating what isn't even complicated at all?

Even after Jane takes off for the night, Lizzie still doesn't have an answer.

* * *

It's not hard to check his texts every day. Gia's been harping on him about it for ages.

But with Gia secured in her own floor of Darcy Tower right now, he can't care less about his antiquated smartphone.

Who needs an iPhone when he lives inside a giant computer?

The loud 'ding' of a text arriving - highlighted by the outrageously loud volumes he's set for all his alerts ever since Gia moved in - sends a feeling that's remarkably similar to fear straight to his heart.

Ever since he'd gone home to _that_ message from Wickham, every new one feels sinister. It's unlike George to be so quiet, so tranquil when wronged.

Darcy knows it for a fact that there's going to be more - more danger, more threats, more harm.

It's almost harder to be bracing for it than tackling it in the face.

 _"Hey, so I got this crazy idea that given how I was the one to convince your little sister to come home with you - that I maybe have a right to some sort of friendship with her. May I enter the holy sanctuary? Any evening next week will do. Thanks."_

His grin grows fast when he realizes it's Lizzie rather than Selenop.

Calling the private floor a holy sanctuary was a bit of a stretch, but the assumption wasn't far from the truth. If he could sterilize half the world, bottle it, and place Gia inside - he would in a heartbeat.

 _"Why not the weekend?"_

He doesn't think too hard before replying.

 _"Just thought you might have had some fancy schmancy plans. Maybe a date with Little Miss Bingley?"_

He scrunches his face instantly. The fact that she'll even suggest it as a joke is offensive.

 _"No, I'd take a week of your company before I'd want two seconds of hers."_

 _"I'll take that as a compliment."_

 _"You should."_

 _"Yes, sure. Whatever."_

He slides on his bed, sock-clad feet sinking into the carpet. He's almost tempted to grin at his screen like a lovesick teenager. Luxury may define every last inch of Darcy Tower, but coziness - in both the happy and derisive usage - is sorely lacking here.

He trades his smile for a frown when he remembers Gia, still shaken and withdrawn from the kidnapping.

Suddenly, he has the smartest idea in the world.

His hands type and send the message without thought.

 _"I mean it. Pack a bag. Come over. You can stay here a whole week or more."_

He waits for her reply. Snarky or sweet - he'll take both.

Neither arrive.

Thirty minutes later (half of it spent pacing the length of his room), he falls into a fitful sleep.

* * *

All her life, Lizzie's never been quite as dawn-friendly as Jane the morning lark. Whenever she spends the night at the office, the snooze tendencies get worse.

Five more minutes, ten more minutes - it's bargaining at it's best.

"You didn't reply."

She opens her eyes abruptly at the voice.

"Who - what - " She burrows her way out from under her blanket cocoon. She scans the room quickly - and finds a scowling Miragem, in full gear, leaning against the front row of controls.

She pants, recovering from the shock. She swallows, particularly conscious of her morning breath. "It's you."

"Your forgotten textmate - yes." He frowns, face increasingly dark.

"I - well, I - " She shifts over the blanket, expertly yet precariously, and reaches for her phone. The fact that it's not remotely connected to any charger shows how fast she must have fallen asleep last night. She quickly unlocks it.

It's her turn to frown.

"Oh."

"Yes - not a single reply." There's a sense of pain - almost of hurt - in his voice.

She doesn't feel like unpacking it.

So she shrugs - and tosses her phone back beside her gigantic keyboard. "I fell asleep."

"Asleep, Lizzie?" He's turned and is walking towards her now.

Panic starts rising inside her. She's close to hyperventilating, or chocking.

"Darcy, I - I - "

"What's your answer?" He stops a yard away, hovering dangerously.

She blinks back, still turning blue.

"Lizzie - "

"I didn't see it - I don't know." She releases the words and her breath all at once. Her lungs take a while to get reacquainted with oxygen. Her hands grip the arms of her chair until her knuckles turn white.

"Was I too forward?" Darcy the boss shrinks back to Darcy the boy. He staggers backwards, looking worried. "I thought I was being kind. I was trying to be friendly. I - "

"No, it's fine." She doesn't know why she's so anxious to reassure him. She's not remotely responsible for his happiness - nor he for hers. "I just - maybe not a whole week?"

His gaze starts lifting until it tentatively meets hers.

She holds it - earnestly.

"How long - "

"Maybe a weekend?" She smiles gently. Seeing Darcy the insecure lover boy makes enduring Darcy the beast a little more worthwhile.

Wait, lover boy - she makes a face when she realizes just how she's mentally categorized him.

"You don't seem to want to." His face is broken now, the way his voice is.

"I do," she jumps to assure. "I think we would have a great time with Gia if we - "

The loud, glaring noise of the assembly alarm interrupts her - as does the gang when it pours into the room. Gale Lord runs, a trail of happy clouds at his feet. The Colonel dashes, cracking a tile here and there. Selenop saunters in like a catwalk model, fingers poised, both impractical and ridiculous.

"It's the Silver Cobra's second strike, guys - let's do this," Matlock barks.

Miragem - Darcy - looks at Lizzie, almost longingly, and answers the call to arms.

* * *

 _A/N: I hope things are heating up in your lives the way it is in E/D's hearts. So much to unpack - so much to write! I hope no one got whiplash from their fast-shifting emotions. These two geniuses are too unsure of their own feelings to ever work without some help ;) Thanks for reading!_


	9. Chapter 9

He steps off the helicopter last - after all three other Hiros have found cover. In the middle of the platform, as always, is Lizzie - enshrined among her tech. He tries to smile. He fails.

"We'll get him next time," Matlock announces, sounding less confident than he did last time.

It's not that catching a supervillain who siphons money off rich folks should be hard. If anything, it's the fact that the Cobra _doesn't_ seem to have any powers that catches them off-guard.

Give The Colonel a monster any day, and he'll punch it to pieces soon enough. Selenop can scale any building. Gale Lord can rain literal fire and brimstone. Darcy can slip in undetected to any stanconium-free building. Heck, if they really wanted help, they can get The Dealsmith out of retirement - let her whip out the playing cards that always corner Richard into taking her seriously.

If it weren't for baby Jim, the five of them would soar out worry-free, ready to subdue any villain and its powers.

The problem is that there _is_ a baby Jim, and Marianne is more interested in her mommy gear than her poker princess one. The other problem, quite obviously, is that the Cobra is eluding them with no perceivable power whatsoever.

"If _I_ had first position, Charles, I would have found him faster!" Selenop is whining again. One of these days, the Citadel's expansive glass windows will give up.

"No, Caroline, you wouldn't." Bingley, at last, is rebuffing his sister. His arm stays anchored around Jane Bennet. "I promise - I kept perfect watch out there - and made all the right friends. The money isn't being reported stolen until about two weeks after it _has_ been stolen. And, that's after it's been _willingly_ transferred to the Cobra."

Darcy frowns at the information. One case may be an anomaly. But Lizzie confirmed just hours ago, courtesy of their comms, that Miss Lea Winthrop is the _eleventh_ victim to claim this SOP.

Coincidences just don't work that way.

"Is there anything to link the victims? Maybe give us a lead as to who might be next?" The Colonel, when he does use his brains, is a very smart man.

"I can't find anything outside of their gender and relative location near NYC." Lizzie frowns at her screens. She alternates between typing frantically and pointing at various points on the digital walls surrounding her. Ladies from all five boroughs, aged 18-45 - from CEOs to students to idle heiresses. It's an algorithm I can't figure out."

It pains Darcy, rather subconsciously, to hear her sound unconfident.

Matlock walks over until he's watching her work from behind her. Darcy follows, without thought.

"Are the thefts all the same amounts?" Matlock asks on.

"Nope." Lizzie shakes her head. The creases in her brow worry Darcy. He almost reaches out to touch them. "They range from twenty thousand dollars to millions. The only similarity is that they're all reported only two to three weeks after the act. All signatures are valid. These women may have been coerced initially and placed under some temporary threat, I think."

"Can it just be regret? Crying over spilt milk?" Darcy asks, desperately wanting to be part of the conversation.

Boss and tech genius both look at him. He shrugs.

"I'm just trying."

"You have a point though," Lizzie agrees, to his surprise. "Regret can be a powerful emotion."

The way she looks at him makes him wonder if she means anything outside of context. He can't read people; he's always known that fact.

It's just a fact that's never bothered him until now.

"What do you mean?" Matlock interrupts.

Darcy looks away, suddenly hot. The tips of his fingers stay at the edge of Lizzie's chair.

He thinks he sees Lizzie shaking her head.

"It's - the only potential link I've found among the women," Lizzie says slowly. Everyone listens. Selenop marches out the room with a huff. No one goes after her.

Lizzie swallows visibly. She's nervous about her diagnosis - that much is obvious. Darcy watches with a frown of his own.

"The only potential link is circumstantial at best." She points at all eleven profiles on her screen wall. "Seven of the women have announced their engagements on social media in the last eight weeks. Three others have recently gained a new boyfriend. The only one who hasn't provided that data doesn't use much technology at all."

"You think this is about love?" The Colonel sounds surprised.

"Maybe. It's a volatile emotion, that's for sure."

"Maybe the women promised to give money to their lovers and backtracked weeks later?" He's obviously thinking out loud.

"Maybe." Lizzie shrugs. "Not that I want to believe that."

Darcy watches his cousin nods.

"Women can be fickle," their leader states.

"Hey, I don't agree," Bingley cuts in from the other side of the room.

"Not all of us are, boss," Lizzie says. She's leaning back against her chair, facing away from Matlock. The gestures means her head is inclined towards Miragem. "I always keep my promises."

"Like our weekend plans." The words escape Darcy before he really thinks them.

All eight eyeballs stare straight at him right away.

It takes a few seconds for him to realize exactly what he's said.

Then he blinks, and shuffles. "I mean - that is to say - "

"Yeah, like our plans." Lizzie surprises him again.

It's relieving to watch her stony expression melt into a welcome smile.

"Yeah - " He's almost in a trance of shock, of relief, of happiness. Then he smiles too. "Like that."

* * *

"Can I get it? All three?"

Gia's bright eyes, topping her youthful smile, almost throw him off.

Is this _really_ the moping sister he had just 24 hours ago?

"Of course - get any you want." He hands her the cash.

It's common knowledge that _Hamilton_ 's made its original investors millionaires.

What most people don't know is the irrepressible urge to buy every single labelled merchandise available - wringing every last minute one has inside the elusive theatre - right after the spellbinding show.

"This would look great on Lizzie!" Gia hops like a preschooler when she shoves the neckline of the purple T-shirt against Lizzie's neck. "Look! She really would never be satisfied."

Lizzie looks at him a little helplessly. It's a relief that she's stopped complaining about the price of their tickets ever since the show began.

And, for the first time in weeks, he smiles - hand already in his pocket for the next wad of cash. "You know they have a store right on 46th, right?"

"But this is _special,_ " Gia insists.

There's something in her eyes - a new awakening, a new hope. It's something that never appeared until Lizzie joined them for the weekend.

For that alone, he owes his tech partner the world.

"Get anything you want." He hands Gia another five hundred.

"Thank you!" She's off in a whirl, back to squeezing shoulders with all the other customers and hollering for the items she wants.

The lady in glasses, expertly handling all twenty-five orders at once, proves her mettle.

Again, Darcy smiles.

"Did you enjoy the show?" Lizzie asks beside him, gratuitously bumping against his shoulder to supposedly get his attention.

He doesn't try to correct her that she already has it - all the time.

"It was a pleasure, definitely." He looks at her, trying hard to be friendly, at ease. "To see the nation's origin debated in rap is - refreshing."

Lizzie smiles - dazzling, captivating. "I never thought I'd get to see it."

Gushing guests weave around them, left and right. He doesn't notice anyone but her.

"Alright, here we go!" Gia appears with her motherlode.

Darcy can't help smiling again. "Ready for dinner?"

"Second dinner," Lizzie corrects him.

"Well, you wouldn't let us order more, Lizzie." Gia chides their guest. For a moment, Darcy finds himself unsure if the polite thing is to correct his sister or not. Lizzie _did_ try hard to order the cheapest thing for dinner - and to fight for the bill.

"Well, if you both agree to let me foot the bill for _second_ dinner." Lizzie crosses her arms, a little pouty. "Then I'll agree to more carb and food at 11:30."

"Shake Shack it is," Darcy says - and Gia squeals with delight.

"Oh, Lizzie, you work wonders." His sister grabs his friend's hands. "He _never_ agrees to it - especially not this branch."

It's frankly helpful to have Gia's ceaseless commentary for the rest of day. It at least saves him from several awkward moments alone with Lizzie while his sister runs off.

"Hey, no need to dress as fancy tomorrow, alright?" He leans over when they finally drive Lizzie home that night.

The stars hover sparsely above the city lights. He did wonder, briefly, if Gia would be affected by a return trip to Brooklyn.

He's relieved when she seems as bubbly and fine as ever.

"Thank you," he whispers, grabbing Lizzie's hand, before she slips out the door.

She looks back, face tentative.

He gestures with his head towards Gia's sleeping (and snoring) form across the backseat. Lizzie smiles. He suddenly feels she's never been more kissable.

So he clears his throat nervously instead. "You've brought the light back in her eyes. I had started to lose hope."

"I'm sure it wasn't me," she says softly.

The fact that she doesn't want any of the credit worms her deeper into his heart.

"I'm sure it was," he insists. For a few seconds, he doesn't try to calm down the disquiet inside him. He likes her, perhaps has always liked her.

He's just unsure how he'll deal with these epiphanies in the light of day.

"Thanks again for _Hamilton_." She smiles, pulling away again.

"Thanks for dinner." He tries to keep smiling too.

"You didn't eat much."

"It's late."

"So you'll eat more tomorrow?"

"Yes - definitely."

She looks a tad more relaxed than she did a moment ago. He laments that she's shrinking farther away, but thankful she looks happier.

"Because I'm paying tomorrow," he blurts.

She laughs - light and airy and beautiful in the dead of night.

"We'll see about that." She smiles at him before finally opening her car door.

"Little Italy, right?" He calls after her, just to have something to say.

"I think you promised _Eataly_ , sir," she corrects him, leaning down to talk to him through the window he's rolled down.

He smiles too. "I stand corrected."

She smiles, and he realizes he's lost count of how many times he's smiled tonight.

"I told her, by the way," Lizzie says then.

"Huh?"

"About - the Cobra." Lizzie looks down. "I - when you went to the restroom, I figured I might as well share how lucky she is to have family to recover her. Other victims of other villains don't."

He nods slowly, suddenly realizing how much more purposeful she's been than he.

"I - I hope you don't mind." She looks up, frowning.

It didn't take long to realize he had to smile. "No worries. Thanks, Lizzie."

"Thanks, Darce."

He tries not to gaze too hard at the dark red door when she disappears into the building.

* * *

"Did you enjoy tonight's?"

It's strange - almost unsettling - that she's this comfortable being in his car by now, riding shotgun as if they're friends or partners or dates.

She smiles anyway. "Yes, very much. I read up on the synopsis before hand but watching it live was - something else."

She knows her eyes are still watery from the moving finale number. She's not ashamed of that. If anything, she just feels a little awkward crying in _his_ presence all night.

"Gia recommended this one. I frankly didn't know what we were getting into when I bought the tickets." Darcy has been - surprisingly candid the whole weekend. From what pasta he likes to his justifiable anger at swerving drivers to his misty eyes when everything on stage comes crashing down on poor young Evan, he's been remarkably, well, _human_. "The resolution was timely for her, I hope."

Lizzie shakes her head a little, clearing her thoughts and refocusing them on the real reason this whole weekend of posh Manhattan restaurants and high-demand Broadway tickets is even happening. She casts a glance on the sleeping figure in the backseat.

"She's been better, hasn't she?" Lizzie speaks without looking at Darcy. "She seemed almost - happy tonight."

"I think she was."

She realizes _after_ she catches a glance of a smiling Darcy that looking at him being this happy at such close quarters is _not_ a good idea.

She clears her throats for no reason.

The next sentence escapes her in a low, cautious tone. "I heard her apologizing to you earlier."

Darcy nods, all solemn again just like that. "Thank you for grabbing the signatures - even if the leads hadn't come out. I knew you could protect yourself against the rabid fangirls more than she could."

"I'm glad to help." Lizzie smiles, genuinely pleased. "I'm just glad she's - recovering."

Darcy nods again.

No one says anything for the next ten minutes - not until Manhattan's dotted skyline is behind them.

"I think I like Mr. Murphy," he says suddenly.

Lizzie turns away from her car-window star-gazing. "Hm?"

"In the - show. I - I think I know what he feels. He's grieving his son and he wants to do right by his daughter - all while trying to do things the right way, no matter how hard that way may be."

Lizzie nods, listening.

"I think he needed some support, some company - and he found it in an unexpected source," he goes on.

"He found it in Evan," she concurs, "who didn't really have anything to do with his family before that point."

"Exactly."

"I'm sure he didn't expect that." She smiles politely.

"No." He pauses. His grips tighten incrementally on the wheel. "But he was - happy about it."

"I guess."

"The instigating event that led to the discovery of his own need for a stronger family relationship was undesirable, of course - but the resulting discovery of how that need could be fulfilled was actually inspiring."

"It was almost as if a bond that wouldn't have existed before suddenly did because of something bad happening in their lives - exposing what the family really needs."

"Exactly."

This time, he punctuates his one-word reply with a quick glance her way.

For some reason, it catches her usual alert self very off guard.

She breathes in deeply and looks away. The silence suddenly feels unreasonably oppressive. She asks the first question on her mind, "So he's your favorite character?"

"I'm not sure."

"I see."

"I like the sequence of events that occurs to his character. The resonance I experience is rooted in what occurs _to_ him rather that what he _does_ himself."

"Because a sad event in your life has led you to find resources to meet your previously unexposed needs?" She knows she's panicking. She's not sure why.

"Precisely - it has led me to find you."

She feels his hand on top of her left hand, his fingers slowly curling around the back of her palm. She meets his eyes because she has to. Her right hand aims for the door handle - but ends up landing on the seat beside her.

"Darcy, I - "

"Can we go out again next weekend?" His voice echoes in her head like a message from outer space, like words spoken from a faraway microphone at the other end of the school gym.

"Next weekend?"

"More musicals, more food." His faint smile looks uncommonly vulnerable.

"More of - this?" She laughs a little because she's nervous. She's amazed that he doesn't seem to be.

"Without Gia? Just us?"

Sometime between the end of their play analysis and this open-ended question, his car and all its material glamor has stopped right in front of her red front door. The keys in her purse lean heavily against her foot.

"Next weekend?"

"Friday night?"

"I - Darce, I - "

Her mind short-circuits. Then it reboots.

She smiles and squeezes his hand back. "Sure. That'll be great."

* * *

 _A/N: Pure Broadway fluff. I hope it wasn't tedious for you! At least Gia has managed to turn a 180 :)_


	10. Chapter 10

The red door slams shut, rapid and definite, before she kicks off her shoes and runs up the stairs. It was only a little annoying, and mostly fun, to convince William Darcy that women _cannot_ go straight to a date after work without some form of vanity respite.

It's not like her life stash at work includes date clothes.

Lizzie smiles despite what the day has been. Monday and Tuesday, team intact, the Alliance managed to conquer _both_ their ridiculously named foes. Leave it to Matlock to coin a name like Tankman and Gale Lord's acid rain to invent Orange Shadow.

Seriously, Orange Shadow sounds like a kiddie fruit juice.

"Lizzie? Are you home?"

The tech genius stops right before she flings open her bedroom.

"Jane?" Lizzie frowns. Then she inches the door open. "Jane - you're not with - "

Jane's only response is a round of violent coughs and sniffs.

"Oh dear, you're sick." It's more a statement than anything.

"I'm fine." Jane's voice carries the full force of her clogged nose. "It's just that with Charlie off to England, I - "

Another round of sneezes and coughs signals Lizzie to refill the tissue box on the nightstand and grab a glass of water for her sister.

"Jane, stop, it's okay." Her hands run up and down her patient's back. It's not that she can blame Bingley. The estate visit and its vague annual demands have been planned for months. Though, quite frankly, she also blames the estate for leaving The Colonel and Miragem alone - unable to catch the Cobra _again_ today. "Does Bingley know?"

"Nope." Jane sniffs and shakes her head.

Lizzie touches her forehead and snatches her hand right back.

"Jane! You're _burning_ up!"

"I'm fine, Lizzie, I - "

"This can't - how can you be. I know you called in sick today, but I thought it was, just, you know, _lovesickness_. Jane, why didn't you tell me - "

"I'm fine!" The nasal limits of her voice pile up on the verbal irony.

"Jane, no, you're _not_ fine. We need to get you a doctor and we - "

"I'm a nurse." She smiles, beautiful despite the snot and rashes. Her hand holds back Lizzie's arm. "I know when I need a doctor."

Lizzie frowns, all thoughts of her potentially spectacular or disastrous date night relegated to the back of her mind.

"Jane, at least let me - "

"I need a sister, Lizzie." Jane smiles, her hair framing her against the pillow.

Lizzie knows, in her heart of hearts, that one word from her about her appointment with Darcy will send Jane into the largest frenzy of her young, sweet life - in her most theatrical attempt to pretend she's not sick.

Lizzie also knows she can't do that to her sister.

"I'll be right back, Jane." She hugs her sister. The degree of warmth is unsettling. "Just need to - call someone."

The kitchen isn't that far away, but it's secluded enough to give her minimal privacy, New York style.

She intends to call; she really does.

It's the list of seven missed calls on her phone - _seven_ missed calls - that annoy her.

Didn't they _just_ see each other at the Citadel? The possessiveness and controlling nature - they set off a temper she hasn't employed in weeks.

So she huffs angrily, her breath causing a small, tentative rise in the printed curtains. Her fingers fly over the screen. Her jaw is as tight as her heart currently feels.

 _"Sorry for the late notice. Can't make it tonight. Need to play nurse. Will make it up to you."_

She leaves the phone on the counter, not caring for once if it's battery will survive the night, and grabs a mug of hot water for Jane.

* * *

 _"Sorry for the late notice. Can't make it tonight. Need to play nurse. Will make it up to you." -Lizzie_

He gulps again, frowning hard to prevent any actual tears from forming. Was it so bad that he wanted to make sure she wasn't involved in the car accident in the news?

It's the eleventh time he's read her text - her heartless, thoughtless text - but he's still nowhere closer to deciphering what she really means.

Is this a trick? Is it some form of punishment for the invariably long list of offenses he seems to be constantly, magically racking up with her?

"Will, are you okay?"

He tears his eyes away from the phone in his hands - and looks patiently at his sister.

"Not really." He doesn't lie. "I - uhm, Lizzie canceled, so - sorry about the outfit."

He watches Gia tilt her head and look sympathetic. He can't decide if he welcomes the comfort or disdains the pity.

"I'll find you another one. I promise you'll look even better." Gia walks over, more grown up than ever, and settles down on the barstool beside his. "Grey was never that much your color."

He laughs, bitter, with a quick glance at his vest-tie-shirt ensemble. It's funny how girls, and even grown women, can be insistent on something one minute and flippant about it the next.

Tonight, thanks to all the comfort Gia's gentle presence is providing, he's feeling particularly thankful for that specific skill set.

"Did she say why?" Gia glances at his phone.

He shakes his head and tries not to growl. "Something about playing nurse. I don't get it."

"I guess someone's sick."

"Yes, I know - " He frowns. The pain in his chest is excruciating and inexcusable. "I just hope it's not - an excuse."

Gia hugs him. He hugs her back and tries not to cry.

He _knows_ grown men don't cry over cancelled dates. He _knows_ Hiros, of all people, should take everything in stride.

His tears ducts are just a little hard to convince tonight.

"Heartache's tough." Gia sits back and sips from the glass of milk she brought with her.

Darcy smiles wryly. "You've been through it?"

It's a passing comment, really, just a big brother thing.

He didn't expect her silence - and how deafening and prolonged it was.

"Gia?" He turns around to find _her_ about to cry. He quickly grabs her shoulders. "Gia, sorry - did I say something wrong? I - "

"We were going to get married." The tears fall down her face like a sudden cascade. "I - I know more than _anyone_ what it means to tackle heartache. Will, please, I'm sorry for being so stupid, but I really thought - "

"Wickham." The name comes to him a little late. He lets her shoulders go and frowns until his brow and nose about meld together. "He _proposed_ to you?"

She looks at him, still crying, and he laments the difference between this version of her and the bubbly one that helped him pick out his date outfit just hours ago.

"Gia - "

"That's why I wanted to stay." She shrinks into herself. He scrambles for comforting words. "I - I really thought he loved me, you know?"

"Mm hm." He's still thinking, still scrambling.

"He was so charming and so handsome and - well, I really thought he meant it."

Darcy nods, because he can't think of _anything_ helpful to say.

"Lizzie reminded me, of course, that I was lucky to have you save me," his sister goes on. "I - I guess if this is his S.O.P., then I was pretty lucky to escape without actually giving him the money."

When Gia starts to smile, Darcy starts to scowl.

"He asked you for _money_?" Of all the things Wickham could do, _this -_ this whole charade of making his sister feel she's only as good as her inheritance - is unforgivable. "Gia, what did he say?"

"George?"

He winces but goes on. "Yes, Wickham - he asked you for money?"

"Yeah, he did." She looks down at her hands before looking back at him. "It's just - well, you know, I - I didn't want to feel so worthless, you know? He said he'd marry me but that he didn't have money for anything - for a house, a wedding - and so I - well, I _agreed."_

"And wanted to stay."

"Yes."

"And Lizzie changed your mind?"

"I think so." Gia shrugs, sniffing less frequently now. "It's just, I don't know - the first two weeks I was back, I felt _victimized_ \- by him, by _you_. I'm sorry, bro, but I - "

"It's okay." The cogs in his head start turning.

"But, I guess - _yes_." She shrugs between her words. "He was so sincere and everything. I was totally ready to transfer the hundred grand to him the very next morning."

"For a wedding."

"Yes - for ours." Gia hangs her head.

Darcy stares - mind churning.

Frankly, it's hard to think of his sister as just 'one of the victims.' The fact makes her less targeted - but also less special. It's hard to fathom that his buddy George Wickham can become a _serial_ offender.

But what does he do when every step sounds so familiar?

"I know better now, Will," Gia says gently. "Thank you for all your patience."

He smiles to assure her. "Of course - no problem."

His sister nods before reaching back for her milk.

His mind is too crowded for food.

"Gia."

"Yes?"

"When did you start recalling all of this – or have you always known?"

"That he wanted my money?"

Darcy nods mutely.

Gia shrugs. "I - you know, it's funny - I _know_ it happened all along. But, honestly, I really didn't _realize_ what he was doing until it's been a couple of weeks."

"I see."

"Yeah."

The siblings sit quietly, the chromatic themes around them reflects exactly how they feel.

"I have to go." Darcy stands then, feeling a keen pain in anticipation of what he's about to do.

"Have a date?" Gia jokes half-heartedly, apologetically.

"As a matter of fact, I might."

* * *

"Lizzie!" He cries for the third time that night, his hand still banging listlessly against that stubborn red door. A few strangers on the street have given him odd looks. He sincerely hopes third time's the charm. "Lizzie!"

"I'm coming! Gee, seriously."

He hears the descending footsteps accompany her shouts, and he backs away slightly.

The thought that George Wickham can be _the_ villain all this time is still shaking his world.

The sight of Lizzie, in robe and slippers, hair untied, just shakes it more.

He doesn't waste time. "Lizzie - look, I've just figured out who the Cobra - "

"What is _wrong_ with you!" She accuses instantly. He steps back, surprised. She goes on. "Knocking like crazy in the middle of the night? I thought you were a _murderer_!"

He scoffs and shrugs. The girl's impossible.

"You weren't answering your phone," he states, matter of fact, hands in the air. "What was I supposed to do when I - "

"Maybe _not_ show up at my apartment at an unholy hour?"

He watches her cross her arms. The glimpse of cleavage is distracting.

He shuffles and clears his throat. "Listen, I'm trying _really_ hard not to blame you right now for bailing on me so heartlessly - but whatever, I'll try to trust you."

"Uh huh."

"I don't want to be here too - alright?" It's his turn to cross his arms. They each stand where they are, stiff and unyielding. "If things weren't so urgent, I would - "

"And what can be more _urgent_ than family?" She looks high and mighty. She looks like an idiot.

He narrows his eyes. "Will you just _listen_ to me for one stupid minute?"

"Because I'm just that stupid?" She flings at him. For a few seconds, he thinks he sees her eyes water. After running ten blocks from his godforsaken parking spot, he doesn't really have that much energy to analyze a fleeting observation.

He doesn't know what to say - so he says whatever he feels instead. "You didn't want to come anyway, did you?"

Her shoulders shift inwardly, shrinking her frame. "What are you talking about?"

"About tonight, about our - date." The words feels foreign on his tongue - heavy, desolate. He blinks away his emotions. "You're so upset that I show up and ruin your excuse that you try to accuse _me_ of calling you names."

"I didn't make any _excuses_ , okay? I'm not that kind of person, Will."

He frowns and huffs, restrained only by the feeling of her calling him anything but 'Darcy.'

He glares at her. She glares back at him.

The whole thing is not _remotely_ what he imagined tonight to be.

The icy fall breeze weaves between each block of buildings and cruelly kisses his cheeks. A part of him wants to plead with her - to tell her why he was calling and why he was here. Another part of him, boorish and hurt, is ready to launch at her about a million and one of her faults.

"I know who the Cobra is," he mutters. The wind almost swallows his words.

She nods slowly. "That's good."

"It's - " Even now, it takes an extra breath of courage. "It's George Wickham."

He watches her eyes broaden, her throat swallow, and her brow frown. "That's - unexpected."

"Yeah." He huffs because he's hungry, because he's sore, because he's sad and confused.

She nods again.

"We'll get him, you know." She sounds more hopeful than he feels. "I'll see you tomorrow. We'll figure it out."

"Tomorrow's Saturday." He feels silly.

She chuckles softly. "Fine - Monday then. Okay?"

He feels like he's being dismissed like a child, but it's better than being thrown out as a prospective murderer.

It's going to be a very, very long walk back to his car.

"Okay."

* * *

 _A/N: Can't really have their date go so smoothly, can we? Please bear with me as these stubborn characters want to drag out their happy ending just that much more! Thank you again to everyone who gives this strange story and premise a chance :)_


	11. Chapter 11

It's still dark and dreary, cold and chilly, when he trudges into the Citadel on Monday. His hands grip the back of Lizzie's chair - a holy item desecrated, and wishes he could be holding the usual occupant instead.

Did _she_ have the right to say everything she did on Friday night? Yes, maybe she did. Did _he_ have the right to expect her to be available anytime he wants her to be - to be his ever on-call partner in fighting crime and childhood friends-turn-nemeses? No, frankly, he did not. He clearly can't expect her to leave her life and all its trappings just to join him in facing Wickham every time he needs her to.

Still, she did it before.

So it hurts more when she doesn't do it this time.

"Early day, Miragem?"

It's odd of Matlock to address him this way. Darcy, or even William - sure, that's normal.

'Miragem' is not.

"Anything wrong, Colonel?" Darcy turns to face his cousin, still nursing his weekend wound.

Matlock shakes his head, offers a grim smile, and walks over until they can both face Lizzie's myriad of grey screens.

They stand there, men in their quiet troubles, for about five minutes.

"I'm worried about him," the older cousin says. His voice is soft, but it sounds loud in the stillness of the hour.

Darcy frowns a bit. "Bingley?"

"Well, yes, him too." Matlock chuckles quietly. He crosses his large, powerful arms - then lets them fall back to his sides after a short moment. In his civilian outfits, he doesn't look like he's much more than the average hipster gym-hitter. It's just that Darcy knows better. "It's about Jim."

Darcy frowns instantly. Worries about any potential victims of the Silver Cobra and his silver tongue get momentarily replaced by worry for his baby nephew.

"Is he alright? Is he ill?"

"He's alright, if it's health we're talking about." There's a sourness - a heaviness - to Matlock's smile. "He's _too_ healthy, if anything."

"Too - healthy?" Darcy turns until he faces his colleague fully. "Richard, what do you mean when you say - "

"He's a carrier." The Colonel's broad hands look silly when he scrunches his fingertips together to pinch the juncture between his brow and nose. "We've suspected for a while, but we got confirmation from the specialist two days ago."

"Oh."

Where are the women and their emotional quotients when you need them?

Matlock sighs again, his third sigh since the start of this unexpected conversation. "How am I gonna raise him, Darce? I always knew what I wanted to do with my powers. Marianne was always determined to use hers for good. Is that how we're going to raise him? Is the Alliance his destiny just because his parents started it? How do we know that he'll end up fighting villains - instead of becoming one?"

Darcy loves his baby nephew.

But the ideas Matlock is sharing now are even newer to him that the realization that George Wickham is the Silver Cobra.

George Wickham - again, in rapid succession, the thoughts of one problem chase away any remaining considerations of another.

Darcy grabs Matlock's arm. His boss looks up sharply. "I found the Silver Cobra."

Matlock straightens immediately. "Where is he?"

"No, I mean, I found him - his - identity." It's Darcy's turn to shuffle. A part of him almost wishes turning invisible would shield him from the trajectory of this current topic. Too bad he knows he has to brave it. "Gia told me something - and it clicked."

"Who is it?" Matlock, of course, is very no nonsense about it all.

Darcy frowns, swallows, clenches his fists, and sets his jaw. Saying the revelation out loud to someone else who has known and cared for the guy is causing him more pain than he's anticipated.

"Darcy, speak up. Dude, I - "

"It's George Wickham. He tricks women with the promise of marriage and makes them transfer their life savings to him." Darcy talks quickly, as if speediness can make the news more palatable. "He proposed to Gia and made her think they were - that they were getting married out of love."

"The bastard."

"I know."

"Go on."

Darcy nods. "For the first few weeks since we got her back, Gia's been unable to come out of his spell. Then, just recently, it all melted away. It's almost as if he has powers that make her listen to him until he - "

Darcy stops abruptly. Matlock freezes too.

The cousins exchange long, revelatory glances.

"George Wickham - "

"Really was a carrier," Darcy finishes for him. His frown is now etched on his face like swirls on immutable marble. "He can control minds for days on end. He can make people - oh my goodness, how many times has he used his powers on _us_?"

Matlock is frowning just as harshly. "Enough to make us want him in the Alliance, at least."

"But the reasons we expelled him - "

"They don't stand anymore, but his villainy does." The look on the boss's face today is dangerous and stormy.

"If we had only known, we might have stopped him. We could have - "

"He didn't want to be helped, did he?" Matlock tosses his rhetorical question out in coarse, bitter tones. "To think that Jim could one day be - "

"He won't, alright?" The topic shifts dramatically in two simple lines. "Your son has _you_ for a father. He won't just - "

"Wickham had Uncle George!"

"It's different." Darcy flinches. "Look at the others - look at Bingley. _He_ never had the influences of a father figure who had powers himself. He could have - "

"He's not _here_ , is he?" There's a frantic edge to Matlock's voice - a crack in his armor.

Darcy pauses.

"Estate or not, he should have been back days ago," Matlock goes on, talking pretty much to himself. "Then he has to get _sick_ and make _excuses_. Darcy, what if we try our best with Jim and he - "

"Bingley's sick?" It feels odd to be fixated with something so small, something mentioned in such an off-hand manner.

But he has to know.

"I think so? I mean, he's been using his sick leaves."

"Since when?"

Matlock shrugs, clearly preoccupied with other topics. "I think he's been back since Fridayf or something. Told me he needed the weekend off to rest. I figured that he - "

"Was sick." A gnawing suspicion starts to grow in Darcy's chest. He doesn't want to believe it - doesn't think it's true. He knows he knows her better than that. She wouldn't blow off a date just to -

But how much did he _really_ know her?

"And where was Lizzie?" The question is the only coherent thing he can form now.

* * *

Given her field of work, Lizzie's pretty well acquainted with both the heroism and stupidity that an overdose of testosterone regularly offers. She's seen her men at their finest - and at their worst - often in the very same moment. It's almost as if being men and carriers and Hiros all at once messes with people's brains.

That, at least, is what she realizes when she almost walks in on _this_ conversation.

"And where was Lizzie?"

She can't tell if his voice is accusatory or heartbroken. A spare thought whispers that it's probably her conscience inventing the latter. She stays her feet, just a yard away from the big, wide, open non-door.

"Lizzie?" The voice is clearly Matlock's - a sleepy Matlock's. "I don't know where she's been this weekend."

"I see."

Still hiding (rather unladylike-ly, but who cares) behind the platform entrance, Lizzie frowns.

"Does it matter where she was?" Matlock asks for her.

"It's just - I thought - "

In her mind, she can see what he looks like - shuffling, uncertain, angry.

"What?"

"She said she was playing nurse and I thought - maybe - well." Darcy stops himself.

There's a fine line between feeling protected and insulted.

Right now, Lizzie finds herself smack in the middle of the line.

"That she was with - Bingley?" At least Matlock sounds incredulous.

"No, I mean, I - maybe - but who - " Darcy groans. She hears him pacing. She remembers him pacing - his broad shoulders and troubled face too large and heavy for their tiny pretend apartment. "Just ignore me - please."

It's that word, just that small, simple word that every child in preschool is taught if his parents have even the most basic of manners.

William Darcy doesn't say 'please.'

At least, she likes to think, he doesn't say it to anybody else.

Right where she is, half in and half out of her actual office, Lizzie wages war against herself. It's almost comical, really, the way she thinks out her battle plan. It's inconceivably girly, even anti-feminist, what she's about to do.

Aren't brave, modern women supposed to know in their gut what they want?

Aren't they trained, by generations upon generations of sacrificial women, to fight for what they think makes sense _for them_ \- men's comments be damned?

She's embarrassed how much, and how little, she thinks this through - but she acts anyway.

"Darcy, a word?"

She watches him swish around, clearly surprised. The dark circles under his eyes - they move her. The invisible weight on his shoulders beckon her, as if she's some doctor who can fix everything and make it right.

She swallows, wishing for once that she was as drunk as Caroline Bingley was half the time.

Then she clears her throat. "Will?"

She watches him stiffen, pause, then obey.

His humble stance is almost ironic given what she's really planning to do.

He walks towards her until they both stand in the hallway. She steps to the side, and he follows.

Safely away from Matlock's line of sight, she sighs - and talks. "Thanks for - you know, dropping by the other night. I was - I was taking care of Jane, and I really wasn't in the mood - so I'm sorry if I said things that I didn't really mean. It's almost as if - my brain shut down or something."

She chuckles at herself.

This is nerve-wracking.

"I - I heard you and Matlock just now, and the ideas about Bingley," she rambles on, eye roll and all, "to think that _I_ would skip our date to be with _Bingley_. Will, I thought better of you. There really is no reason whatsoever that I - "

"I'm sorry," he interrupts.

She snaps up to look at him. There's genuine contriteness on his face - as well as genuine sorrow.

She softens, too instantly, in her own opinion. "I was with Jane - okay?"

"Okay."

Maybe it's the fact that they're both apologizing. Maybe it's the effect of standing alone with each other in a very deserted hallway after a very tiring weekend.

Whatever it is - it's making her step closer.

And it's also keeping him from pulling away.

"Lizzie?" It's both question and caress the way he says it - his lips just inches from hers.

"Mm hmm."

"I'm sorry."

She barely hears him, barely hears anything above the banging of her heart.

"Don't be," she answers.

Then she closes the gap between them.

* * *

 _A/N: And that's where the last chapter was supposed to end before I chopped it into two. I know our heroes can be very silly in this story, and I am inexpressibly thankful to everyone who gives the weird premise and twists and turns a try. Thanks for all your support! Darcy and Lizzie still have their own share of feelings to sort out, but at least they seem to be on the same page now!_


	12. Chapter 12

"Don't be."

Her last two words, right before this life-shattering moment, still reverberate in his mind.

The feeling of her lips on his - a shock at first - melted so quickly into divine wonder that he almost forgets what life was like before this kiss.

He returns her kiss readily, tenderly. His hands find her waist as naturally as her hands find his shoulders. He's had many kisses in his life - more than he cares to count or admit.

 _This_ one, chaste and gentle as it is, surpasses them all.

"Lizzie - " He whispers when their lips part for the first time. Her nose is still against his, her body pressed deliciously up against his own. He strokes her hair. "Lizzie - "

"Don't be an idiot - okay?" Her tone is a lot less condemning than her words are.

He smiles softly. He feels her smile too.

"Is this okay?" He traces her jaw with his nose, then his lips. She sighs gratuitously.

"Why would I choose Bingley over you?" There's both sadness and incredulity in her voice. He feels her kiss the base of his neck.

He tries not to shudder too obviously. "I suppose I was too nervous and heartbroken to feel remotely logical."

She giggles; the sound is heavenly. Then she kisses him again.

For the next few minutes, the deserted Citadel hallway might just as well be an intimate dinner table, or someone's cozy Friday night couch.

"Next week, Lizzie - let's try again?" He's panting when he asks it. His gaze wanders up her face until he can greet whatever look her eyes carry for him.

Thank God they carry just a hint of sarcasm - and plenty of tenderness instead.

"And if Jane gets sick - "

"Then we'll reschedule," he answers quickly. His hands anchor her waist against his chest. "We'll reschedule again and again until we - "

"Miragem! Agent B!"

They both let go quickly. The glint in Matlock's eyes say that he's on to them - but that this isn't the time or place to care.

He's in full Colonel garb. His stance is defensive - combative, even. Darcy gulps.

For once split second, Matlock looks a little apologetic. Then he marches over and grabs his fellow warriors' arms.

"The Silver Cobra struck again. We're headed to Brooklyn Heights."

* * *

Whatever part of her brain that is not preoccupied with running facial recognition, hacking every street light she can, or mapping out the inner workings of the SC Tower is focused on making sure her hands don't shake. Lizzie Bennet is a professional. Lizzie Bennet doesn't freak. Lizzie Bennet goes through the fire and comes out strong.

"Watch out, Darce!" One cry from the Colonel through their comms is enough to make her freeze.

"Are you okay?" She shouts into her microphone. Her fingers keep tapping - the cursor keep clicking.

"Fine." Darcy sounds a little worse for wear - because it's not everyday that invisible people run into street lights.

She gets it, really.

"Got an eye on him?" The Colonel calls for her attention.

Lizzie shakes her head straight. "He's last seen marching into _Something Blue_. I'm absolutely certain that the supposed wedding money is being siphoned through them."

"Copy."

"Selenop and Gale Lord are on their way. I paged them the moment their plane landed."

"Good. Copy."

Lizzie nods, even if no one sees her.

The tenderness of their earlier first kiss is still pervading her mind. One hour isn't really that much time ago.

Still, she fights to focus - to win.

"Cop at three o'clock," she reminds Darcy. The dot on her screen gives her a location that no one at the site can actual pinpoint. She sighs in relief when she sees the dot dodge said NY cop.

"Any eyes on him?" Matlock demands her attention again.

"Not inside the building. He shuns all sorts of surveillance." It's hard to pretend she's never been there. She drags a particular window until it expands across four screens. She needs her eyes on them - now. "The Cobra also has a history with stanconium."

" _Stanconium_?" Matlock sounds incredulous.

"I don't know how he does it." Lizzie's all matter of fact. "I just know."

There's a bit of a pause as she watches the two cousins hurdle the last block of cars, vendors, and buildings.

Her heart constricts every time Miragem escapes an oncoming delivery truck. She doesn't try too hard to question why.

"ETA for Selenop and Gale Lord?" There's a rare shortness of breath in the Colonel's voice. Lizzie feels both pride and fear at the sight of both original Alliance members standing in front of _Something Blue_ \- muscle versus menace.

"Just under three minutes," Lizzie answers. For a few seconds now, she's traded the constant tapping for bated breath - her heart clenching for unspoken reasons.

"We don't have three minutes," Miragem laments.

"We don't know how many people they have in there," his cousin refutes. "It's hard enough to get a location on the Cobra."

"Wickham is a snaky as they come. He won't wait."

There's a moment of silence, a moment that almost sounds like dramatic impact.

" _Wickham_?" Gale Lord, usually boyish, sounds more than a man today.

"Gale Lord, Selenop - you made it," Lizzie barks into her comms. She gulps, desperately trying to hide her nerves. "Miragem has just uncovered the Cobra's identity. That's how we know which exact building to stalk. Suit up. We're tackling him in person this time."

Selenop whines - but at least trades her Milan chic for her gear with minimal prodding. Gale Lord refuses to let either cousins out of his sight.

"How did you know it's Wickham?" Bingley exhibits more inquisitiveness and anger than Lizzie's ever seen from him.

Darcy shrugs. He's private that way. "I found out."

"How?"

"Personal - means."

"So he's been siphoning money all this time - lying to us then to poor, vulnerable women?"

Lizzie watches, entranced, at her new and hopefully last love interest levels his gaze at his best friend.

"He may have been a carrier, after all," Darcy admits, body stiff.

"What talent? Wickedness? I can't believe he - "

"Hypnosis," Matlock finishes before Bingley asks more. The leader, in prime form, shoots his cousin a knowing glance and receives a grateful one in return. "Hypnosis with effects lasting for an average of 25 days after last contact."

Lizzie sighs at the sight of Darcy's clenched fists.

Gale Lord moves to talk - then doesn't.

"Come on, team." Leave it to Matlock to be the level-headed one. "We have a villain to catch."

Lizzie finds her breath latching when the group dives into the building - through the exact door she and Darcy entered weeks before.

"Take care, guys," she says into her comms.

* * *

The building feels familiar - too familiar. His feet blindly retrace the path towards the staircase. His peripheral vision catches side of the entrance to the fitting room - the turn in the corner that once took him to the vision of his dreams.

There are perks to invisibility, he realizes. Not only can his enemies walk by without noticing him - his friends won't catch the wistfulness in his face today either.

"Should we use an alternate route?" He hears Gale Lord in his ear.

Darcy stops abruptly, and he turns to watch the entrance.

Cathy, suit and all, is accosting Caroline. Caroline doesn't look too unhappy to be accosted.

"Guys," Darcy barks.

"They think Matlock and my sister are engaged," Bingley explains helplessly.

Darcy's thankful no one sees his eye roll. "Then tell her they're not."

"But don't we need cover?"

"Not when you say it so loudly."

From his spot near the exit, he feels almost amused to see Bingley clamp his hands urgently over his own mouth.

Worry for Gia, anger against Wickham, and the general feeling of injustice in the world chase away any amusement soon enough.

"How can I extract myself?" Gale Lord at least whispers this time.

"Ask for the bathroom. Then come my way," Darcy orders.

He waits impatiently for his colleague to obey and come over. Then he whisks them out the door in no time.

"Where are we going?" Gale Lord runs beside him. Darcy prays that they don't run into the janitor again.

"Wickham's lair."

"And we're absolutely certain it's here."

Darcy can feel his chest tightening. "Yes."

For two more minutes, the friends make good time down, around, and through the intricate hallways - until they're at the foot of the stairs.

Bingley sounds impressed. "Is that - "

"Stanconium."

"So much of it."

"Yes." Darcy knows his brow is tight. The rest of his body feels it too - the restlessness, the urgency, the fear.

"How can we?"

"We're both carriers," Darcy laments aloud. How did that fact escape him?

"Have you ever seen anything like it?" The awe still reverberates in Bingley's tone.

Darcy closes his eyes. "Yes."

"How did you - "

Darcy shrugs - before realizing he's still invisible. "A non-carrier helped."

"But how will I - "

"Freeze it." Darcy suddenly stands straighter. The thought is invigorating. "Any substance can't withstand subzero temperatures without freezing at some point."

"Then we can kick it."

"Yes."

Bingley gets to work immediately. Darcy watches, fidgeting, impatient.

"You'll get him." He hears Lizzie over his comms.

He smiles.

"Thanks."

"No problem, Miragem."

"Get a room, you two." Matlock's voice is distinct.

Darcy scowls and ignores him.

"There!" Bingley cries when the first half of the glowing wall begins to solidify. Gale Lord strains to look his way. "I don't know how long I can keep it up though."

Darcy nods - and runs over quickly.

Three hard, muscled kicks are all it takes to shatter the first few inches. Bingley moves his hands gradually towards the right. Darcy follows with kicks, slams, and punches.

Soon, the crevice is large enough to squeeze through.

"Let's go." Darcy grabs for Gale Lord's hands - and recoils instantly. "Bingley, what on earth?"

"I'm freezing." The younger man shakes his head. His lips exhibits tints of blue. He drops his hands to his sides. "I can't run - or climb - for a while."

"Bingley - "

"Go." The weather wizard pants.

Darcy nods, says his thanks, and runs for it.

The stairs fall under and behind him quickly, shorter than usual under his long strides. He can feel him - every drop of venom in Wickham's veins. Darcy _knows_ he's closing in.

The question is - what would he do when he does?

He closes his eyes at the final landing. He gulps, nervous. Wickham's wronged a lot of women - destroyed their lives emotionally and financially in a myriad of ways. He's scummy enough to deserve only the worst punishments of all.

But can he - William Darcy - childhood friend - be strong enough to carry out the sentence?

He thinks of Gia - of the spirited college student, the catatonic captive, and the slowly-recovering lady. He clenches his fists, sets his jaw, and marches through the final door.

* * *

She gulps every time the running tally beeps, its number glaring at her thousand after thousand after hundred thousand. How much money _did_ George Wickham siphon off unassuming, loveless women?

She keeps an eye on the rising red numbers - and her other eye on the camera view from right outside SC Tower. It's been fifteen minutes since the team first slipped in. Close in her ear, she hears Selenop's mumbles, sounding undeservingly flattered, and Matlock's awkward responses. She hears Gale Lord panting, probably creating a cloud donut around him with every breath. She hears Darcy, running and panting, grunting and huffing.

Her instinct tell her he's close to Wickham, if not already facing him.

A loud ding indicates that the final amount of stolen money has been reached. Lizzie swishes her chair around to view the screen.

Ninety-six _million_ \- she gapes at the number, throat dry. Ninety-six million dollars of ungodly money, collected over a mere three years.

It's a little unsurprising that greedy men tend to turn villainous.

No business ever makes this much legally.

She shakes her head one more time, hoping desperately that the number will magically plummet when she looks at it hard enough, hoping that Jane and her soothing, calming presence will be beside her in no time.

Not all hopes come true.

"Charles, are you fine?" Selenop asks after her brother, perhaps her first ever selfless act, over the comms.

Gale Lord is panting, but sounds like he's smiling. "Yeah - tip top shape. Just need another - second - or two."

Lizzie frowns at how intensive the stanconium rays must have been.

"Is the gate coming back up in any way?" She's all Agent B today - professional, perceptive. "You don't want to be in its way if it self-recovers."

"It doesn't sound or look like it's coming back," Gale Lord replies.

"Can you aid Miragem?"

"Not for another ten minutes, I think."

Lizzie bites her lip. It's not promising when grown men acknowledge their limits.

Where did Wickham stash his motherlode? How does he spend it? The building is obviously under his assets. The businesses alone should make him a millionaire through hefty New York rent. Were the _Something Blue_ employees his tenants, his minions, or his spies?

She leans forward on her station, her head in her hands, her elbows perched on the small ledge before her expansive keyboard.

She wills herself to think - wills the search machines to yield. Wickham wants money, sure - but what for?

For six long, confounding minutes, she listens to Darcy's hollow footsteps bringing him higher and deeper into enemy territory. Her heart bangs as persistently as a rocker's bass drum. Her eyes strain as the images on her sea of screens change again, and again, and again. Every red herring costs three dozen heartbeats. Every moment weighs as heavily as -

The large, loud red letters blare on the leftmost, topmost screen.

She nearly tumbles out of her chair.

With every word she reads, her body temperature plummets just two degrees more.

"Miragem?" She knows her voice is shaky. She _feels_ shaky. Her eyes scan the order and delivery records two more times. She doesn't say more until she's sure. "Wickham invested all his money in weaponry and explosives. A quick reading proves the SC Tower is loaded - I mean, _loaded_."

She hears Darcy gulp, Bingley gasp, and Matlock curse.

Lizzie frowns, still staving off the fear as hard as she can.

"Miragem, do you copy? Please - be careful." The thermal readings confirm what she's already fearing. One wrong stop and - kaboom, no more brand new boyfriend. She swallows the tears. "Every corner is rigged. Stay away from them."

"Mm hmm." He doesn't say much.

She's tempted to insist.

When everything she hears for the next sixty seconds includes Darcy's jilted breathing and a venomous cackle or two, panic sets in.

"Darcy!" She yells into her microphone.

"Very well." A voice she's never heard before - velvety and smooth - dangerous, intoxicating - echoes into her earpiece. She stops still. "You and me, Darce, it was always me and you. Your sister may have been unwilling, but I always knew you'd walk right in here to me."

The next thing she hears is the harsh, splintering sound of breaking bones.

* * *

 _A/N: And the action picks up to our final act! Writing action scenes take out so much from me, since I don't do them often, so I can only hope the danger and descriptions were solid enough to have been worth the effort. I know this story isn't everyone's cup of tea, and that's okay. I just hope whoever is still following and reading and discovering this story finds something they like! Much love -Iris_


	13. Chapter 13

"Very well, you and me, Darce, it was always me and you. Your sister may have been unwilling, but I always knew you'd walk right in here to me."

Darcy clenches his fists, barely bracing in time for the literal hatchet Wickham sends his way. He hears the blade sink into the stairs behind him.

He swallows, hard.

Despite his every effort, the shock of seeing George Wickham after all these years, sinister and brooding, has sent him back to visibility in seconds.

True, he probably couldn't have hidden from this one - but it's not nice to start off disadvantaged.

In his ear, Lizzie mentions hope, mentions strength, mentions a myriad other attempts to encourage him.

He nods grimly.

"Any _apologies_ , brother mine?" Wickham sneers.

"You are _not_ my brother!"

The laugh of The Silver Cobra is vile and malicious. "But you agreed to the DNA test."

"I had no choice!" Darcy set his jaw. The harshness of his frown probably means instant wrinkles.

The thin, lengthy hallway space between them, lit by only a few sparse wall lamps, feels almost like a trap.

On second thought, may it is.

"You've harmed enough people, George." Darcy levels his voice. He can be a professional; he _is_ a professional. "We won't let you hurt more."

" _We?"_ Wickham scoffs. The suit on his long, wiry body reminds Darcy of the one in _Something Blue's_ display window weeks back. "I don't see any of your _friends_ with you, do I?"

"We are a team, and you didn't belong in it!" Darcy rushes forward in two large, purposeful steps. "The way you play the victim is pitiful."

Wickham sneers again. "But I _am_ the victim, aren't I? The rich kids thought me and my poor powers were useless to them - so I need to make them work for _me_ instead."

"Fooling people isn't considered _working_!" Darcy bellows. Another five steps place him just a few yards away from his enemy and friend.

"Not for you, Mr. Trust Funder." Wickham narrows his eyes. His nose looks comically long. "I'm just trying to look out for myself, see? God gave me these powers for a reason, you know, and I'm only using my talent in a way that - "

"That destroys lives and ruins families!" Darcy dashes forward and grips Wickham by the collar. The villain's slinky limbs hang from his elevated body. How did women ever find him handsome? "What right have _you_ to trick my sister - and a thousand other people's - for your own selfish gain?"

"Still think I'm a villain, huh?" Wickham squeaks, voice clipped. Then his eyes flash with something strange - something that reminds Darcy of anger, and aggression - and confidence. "Then I'll show you one."

Within two seconds, Darcy finds his limbs shaking, his body crackling, and all of him plummeting to the floor.

"Villain I'll show you, _friend_." Wickham, with one long kick, drives his glowing boots against Darcy's abdomen. He doubles over instantly.

"Wickham!" He gasps, hands to his stomach. "How could you - what are you - "

"Won't let me be a hero? Well, guess I'll have to take my talents _somewhere_ , don't you think?" Every other word Wickham sputters is accompanied by more kicks to Darcy's shoulder, head, and limbs.

With firm deliberation, Darcy activates his powers and rolls away from Wickham's footwear.

They can't be ordinary boots, Darcy knows. Each kick carried a ferocity and acidity that his gene-carrying body wasn't able to withstand. They just _had_ to be enhanced by something.

He inhales sharply when he realizes _yet_ another use for stanconium that Wickham must have found.

"Argh!"

Darcy realizes, belatedly, and wholly visibly, that his sharp inhale may have been _too_ sharp.

"What did you expect when you kicked me out, Darce - your own childhood bosom friend!" Wickham aims a high kick at his head. Darcy dodges it. "I'm not gonna sit around looking pretty when there's _this_ much wealth in the world to access."

"It's not about wea - "

Darcy drops down to the floor, unable to control a single one of his limbs.

That's when he hears it - the unmistakable rumbling, humming sound emitted by the wall behind him. Every attempt to pull away or stand up is thwarted by the pressure every surface in the room is applying on him right now. Wickham isn't just _wearing_ stanconium - he's built his house with it.

"Wickham," Darcy manages, growling.

His ear is crashing with a million shouts from Lizzie. He's touched by her concern - but unable to do much about it.

The condescension on Wickham's face communicates that he knows _exactly_ what his opponent has realized.

"You know, not being able to use _my_ powers has never bothered me." Wickham sniggers. He dangles an item from his wrist that resembles a small remote control. "These on-and-off buttons are _so_ convenient, aren't they?"

Darcy zooms in on the protective layer Wickham is obviously wearing. The suit didn't look ugly for no reason.

As he looks up into the face of a mocking, nefarious Wickham, Darcy realizes how long this all must have been planned - how deep the bitterness in Wickham's heart runs. He was booted out of the Alliance - so what?

If anything, his current actions prove that he was never deserving of being a true hiro.

"What do you want?" Darcy mumbles. There's a tiredness in his bones - a sense of defeat. "Were we ever even friends?"

"Were we?" All the outrage Darcy imagined actually appears on Wickham's face. "I can't remember - _Miragem_."

Another painful attempt to leave the floor only leaves Darcy more exhausted than before.

"Wickham, listen - we didn't know." Darcy hears the desperation in his own voice. He hears it and hates it. "We didn't know you had any."

"And you didn't care to figure out, did you!" Wickham yells - sticking out his face until it's right in front of Darcy's.

Darcy flinches.

"Wickham, you can change." Every word still costs the efforts of hauling a car off a baby. "You don't have to - "

"Be a villain?" Wickham scoffs, pulling back. "You're that cliché now?"

Darcy sighs. What did the guy want?

"What _do_ you want?" Darcy asks for real. He hopes, prays, telepathically communicates to Bingley to show up as soon as he can. "Wickham, you - "

"You ruined my life, Darce." Wickham crosses his arms. There's a sudden serenity to him that appears seriously foreboding. "I'm ruining yours."

He steps away until he's at the other end of the hallway - right at the top of the stairs.

Then Wickham throws a look back over his shoulder. His voice sounds both triumphant and sad. "Enjoy the fireworks."

Darcy hears a click, descending footsteps, and the sound of floors upon floors of buildings being blown to bits.

* * *

"Darcy! Will!"

He squints at the sound in his ear.

"Darcy - please, get up."

"I can't." He throws his eyes up to the ceiling. He hears every batch of crumbling debris. His limbs feel tired - sore, helpless.

"Fight it."

"Fight what?" The pain in his throat is nothing compared to the pain in his chest and his arms.

For once, his genes are failing him.

"Darcy, please - for me - okay? We've barely started what we did."

There's a pleading lilt to Lizzie's voice. In another universe - where he's not about to be crushed to bits by his arch-nemesis - where he's not a carrier, not a hiro, but just an ordinary guy - he would have turned around to that pleading voice and kiss her senseless.

Darcy closes his eyes.

"Will - please." She's crying now. He can hear it.

The sound makes him want to cry too.

"Lizzie - I can't. I'm trapped." The loaded walls and floor force him into an awkward heap. He can't move, or stand up, or do anything remotely productive.

"Get him."

"I want to."

"Then don't fight it," she says again.

"How?"

"Stay visible."

"Stay - what?"

"Stay visible. Don't use your powers." Her voice gains momentum. She's on to something - perhaps his last chance at salvation. "The stanconium repels you even harder when you're exercising your powers."

The advice dawns slowly in his mind - gradual and revelatory.

"No powers," he echoes.

"Yes - please."

He nods and obeys her. The walls lessen their pressure instantly.

He garners all his strength to roll himself upright. The floors above him keep falling, keep crashing.

He's lucky this building isn't built like the original World Trade towers.

"Will?"

"I'm up," he informs her, grateful. "Thank you so much."

"No problem - now go."

He nods and runs for it, taking three steps down the staircase each time. He staggers occasionally, still affected, but always gets right back up.

"Are you okay?" Lizzie's still asking.

He's grateful for her love, for her concern - for _her_.

"I'll be back in no time," he assures.

Two minutes later, Gale Lord meets him on the stairs.

"Darcy!"

"Bingley, go."

They rush down the stairs, one behind the other. The building shakes. The floor nearly crumbles. They run faster.

"Get everyone out. Flood it or something," Darcy barks.

"Right on it." Bingley's hands rain every hallway. It's not his friend's most impressive work, but he'll take whatever Gale Lord can muster under the building's stifling effects.

The sounds of screams and stampedes are instant.

"Can we get everyone out in time?" Bingley asks, hands still maneuvering his clouds as they make their way out of the maze of hallways.

Darcy stands where he is, frozen at the sight.

 _That_ suit was the one- indubitably.

Behind him and Bingley, employees of every kind - janitors, stylists, designers - shuffle out of the myriad of rooms. In front of him, Darcy gazes after the suit he'd just caught sight of.

It's almost a fight or flight thing.

"Miragem? Can we?" Bingley asks again.

In two short seconds of deciding, Darcy turns away from what must have been a secret exit, and says, "Yes. We have to."

* * *

The evacuation process proves almost excruciating to watch. Every minute, Lizzie sees another handful of individuals rescued - another two souls deposited on the sidewalk. Every minute, she holds her breath when one of the team members rush back into the collapsing building to continue their delivery campaign. Every other minute, her heart skips a beat when a window or a floor or a balcony breaks while Miragem's inside.

"Please be okay, please be okay," she mutters under her breath.

This time, even Selenop is too preoccupied to say something snarky.

"Go west. Colonel - other way," Lizzie orders occasionally, when laden heroes appear at the door with plenty of evacuees but not enough space to leave them. "Gale Lord, fly them across the street."

The heroes obey her, with absolute trust in her all-seeing surveillance. More than ever before, she feels indispensable to the team - her expertise more valued than any natural powers.

That's why it's so ironic that she wishes she were with them on the ground instead.

"Gale Lord, last trip, okay?" Matlock commands his colleague. The thick smoke and inevitably building layers of debris are starting to blur Lizzie's line of vision. Street cams don't see through fogs _this_ thick, unfortunately.

"There may be a dozen more things to save in there." She hears Bingley. The SC Tower is completely gone from the skyline now.

Only flying, taunting flames remain.

Lizzie feels her throat run dry.

"Is everyone alright?" She breaks her professional mask. These people are her friends, her family - maybe the love of her life. "Visibility is falling over here."

"Everyone's out," Matlock informs her. Lizzie breathes a sigh of relief. "Except Miragem."

Her muscles tense as quickly as they'd relaxed just a moment ago. She leans forward on her seat - anxious, sweaty.

"Who's he trying to save? I thought everyone was out?" She doesn't really succeed in sounding calm.

"He said something about a dress. There was a - " Static noises replace their leader's voice.

Lizzie, staring blankly into nothing whatsoever, clenches the arms of her chair until her knuckles flash white. She sees the debris and fog, piling up by the minute. She hears the crumbling and bellowing and groaning of a dying piece of architecture. She blinks repeatedly - suddenly afraid she'll lose him - right after they've just made up.

For three minutes, the digital timepiece on top of her station seems to freeze. Time augments itself until each second requires a thousand heartbeats and triple the oxygen to survive. Her eyes water; her lips pant. The entire situation feels unreal.

Static interference - with the occasional high-pitched ringing - mingle in her ear. She waits with bated breath, then she waits while drowning with air. Her body can't decide what to do.

She hears the final crash - loud and clear. The cacophonous, world-ending sound of steel beams and concrete and wood and glass all shattering simultaneously. The noise sounds loud enough to reach outer space.

Then there's total silence.

She doesn't hear a thing - except her own drawn-out, belabored heartbeat.

The crackling sounds resume slowly - a buzz and a shuffle here and there. She's both anxious and afraid to hear it. She waits for _his_ voice, for even a groan or a curse. He needs to be alive - _has_ to be.

The tears escape her eyes, falling rapidly on to the edges of her magnificent desk.

Is he okay? Is he alive?

She hears the people's murmurs - gradually clarifying sounds through the line of comms. There are people sobbing, people fighting. She's too scared to imagine the cause for either.

Then, lifetimes later, she hears it - Gale Lord's shaky voice traveling into their suddenly vast headquarters.

"Matlock's got him - fished him out, along with the Silver Cobra." Bingley sounds relieved himself. Background noises of shouting and yelling and screaming intersperse themselves with his words. "He's alive. He's okay. We're headed back."

All by herself in the Citadel - afraid, relieved, overcome - Lizzie drops her head back and cries.

* * *

 _A/N: I did not plan for both of my posted stories to come to some sort of climax of action at the same time, but it just happened to end up that way. Now we have the aftermath and an epilogue to go for this one. Thank you so, so much to everyone who's been supporting this unusual AU! You're the best! *hugs*_


	14. Chapter 14

The way she waits for them to come back is ridiculously cliché. She stands on the platform, eyes and heart yearning. She tries not to cry, because that's not what heroes' welcome parties look like. They saved the day. They survived.

That's really all that matters.

The loud, buzzing sound of Selenop's augmented wings grow louder. The Colonel's groans reverberate up the wall of the Citadel. It's like he's carrying something - supporting something heavy and large. Gale Lord, aided by his personal cloud elevator, sweeps up into the entrance first.

"Charles!"

Lizzie hears footsteps behind her - and turns just in time to see Jane running into her lover's arms. They hug each other tightly - relief and reunion in one grand, emotional embrace. Jane is still sniffing, but Bingley pulls her close anyway.

The tenderness is contagious, and Lizzie almost sighs.

"A little help here?" Matlock's voice is strained.

Lizzie whips around, sees the heap of limbs their leader is supporting, and dashes towards them with all her might.

"Darcy!" She lowers herself just before she reaches him - and sweeps herself up to support him between her arms. He's conscious, at least. "Darcy, are you okay? The crash I heard - the destruction - "

He clutches her, shifting his weight from his cousin to his new love, and they almost stumble.

"Lizzie - "

She hugs him tightly, eyes watering all over again.

"I can't believe he tried to kill you." The words tumble out of her now. Disbelief, kept at bay during the thick of the action, starts to overwhelm her after the delay. "When the building started crashing, I - "

"Lizzie," he says again. He hugs her tighter and kisses the side of her neck.

"Darcy - " She's officially chocked up anyway - so she finds another, more practical, use for her lips.

"There you go!" Matlock cheers when she kisses him - and when Darcy kisses her back. He's standing a little more strongly now, just enough to keep them both from keeling over.

Either way, she wouldn't have let them stop kissing.

"Miragem, _darling,_ would you - " The words fall short on Caroline's tongue. Her gasp is magnified by the perfect acoustics of the spacious dome of a room they occupy.

Despite her lips being pressed against Darcy's, Lizzie smiles.

"I'm sorry." Darcy pants, when he finally lets her go. She gazes at him in a daze - heady with joy. "I wanted to catch him - and save it - but the people - "

"The victims were more important, of course." She rubs her hands against his shoulders, desperate to assure him. "We'll get him eventually. You don't have to feel gu - "

"His suit protected him," Darcy goes on. The haunted look in his eyes pulls her heart into knots. "I saw him slipping out, but the place was already self-destructing."

"I know." She pulls herself close again, her temple against his chin. "You did what you had to."

"I wanted to get this."

She doesn't realize what he's talking about until she pulls back ten seconds later.

The fabric draped on Darcy arm - tattered, torn, and toasted - looks vaguely familiar.

"The dress?" Her heart swells with astonishment, surprise, and a throbbing sensation that feels dangerously close to love. She remembers the look on his face when he saw her in it - when she felt like a girl in his eyes, for the very first time. For one split second, she almost wants to twirl. "Will, you didn't have to - "

"I paid for it already, I think." He smiles weakly. He's extraordinarily handsome, despite it all.

"Just a deposit." She's soaring, flying - unfettered. This is it. _This_ is it.

He's the one.

And she really wouldn't have it any other way.

"I can't believe I willingly wrote Wickham a two-thousand-dollar cheque." Darcy shudders under her hands.

"Money well spent - to have you safe." She kisses him, stops any further recriminations from arising.

Technically, her reasoning doesn't make sense.

At least the way he's kissing her back - close, demanding, urgent - doesn't indicate that he's noticed.

In her peripheral hearing, she can almost detect Jane and Bingley's sighs, Matlock's celebratory whistles, and Caroline's sneers. She knows paperwork's coming. Clean up's coming.

There's going to be so much more they have to do.

But Will's lips are too delicious - his very existence too important - for her to care about anything else right now. She'll keep him now.

The other things can wait.

* * *

The reporters have all been both listless and heartless all afternoon. Even Matlock's suave presence at the podium and the _very_ intriguing backdrop of a crumbled building don't seem to keep their attention. They still have to ask about the large, manly, wholly visible hand she's gripping. They still have to pry and ask if wedding bells were in the works for any Alliance members.

The gasp that escapes her when Bingley _actually responds_ with a diamond ring and a one-knee pose in front of Jane is one-hundred-percent genuine - a trip to sentimental heaven.

"Jane!" Lizzie grips her new boyfriend's hand tighter, feeling the joy radiating off him as well.

The cameras don't freeze Jane, and she shouts her approval confidently. The couple eagerly embraces - framed by the whoops and calls and whistles and smiles all around them.

For a moment, Lizzie forgets this is the same girl tucked in bed just a few days ago. Suddenly, Bingley's mysterious, evasive time off makes sense.

"Elizabeth." She hears Darcy whisper into her hair.

"No, don't." She reads his mind. Audience be damned, she winds her arms around his body. He lifts his hands and place them protectively around her shoulders. "Let them have their moment."

The moment lasts for another fifteen minutes - as the press members shove each other around in a rather violent fight to grab the first pictures of Jane's ginormous diamond ring. Jane herself leans against her man, the ultimate blushing bride, as she obligingly displays her left hand. The ring is large and sparkly and classic and sweet - Jane a thousand times over.

Lizzie smiles happily, and she nuzzles her nose further against Darcy's coat.

"Another time?" Darcy asks, this time against her crown. She bites her lips to contain her smile. It's almost as if the tower rubble contained magical wedding pixie dust.

"In a rush, dear?" She whispers happily. For once, she wishes his powers were transferable - and they could _actually_ be both invisible.

At least he cares enough to stay in place - and to not let her look like an idiot.

"As a matter of fact, I am," he answers, sounding more certain than she expected. He holds her tighter. "Can't risk another Wickham - with no wife to go home to."

"Wife!" She pulls back, meets his eye in shock. She feels giddy, light - almost silly. "Did I hear you - "

"Yes, you did." He smiles, handsome and brave. He doesn't press her to him, doesn't make any gesture that remotely communicates unwillingness to let her consider.

Still, somehow, she feels trapped.

It's not exactly a discomfiting thing to feel.

"Darcy, it's Jane and Gale Lord's day. We can't expect - "

"Not today." He sounds assuring. Then he leans his head a little to the side. "But someday - right, Lizzie?"

It's a proposal of sorts - a pre-proposal. It's a hint of a future that promises excitement and danger, passion and thrill. She knows he loves her, deep down she knows.

So what's so bad about promising she'll consider something she already does?

"Someday." She lights up, feeling extraordinarily happy considering the destructive events and narrow escapes earlier today. "Someday, Will. We'll make it work."

Other people won't understand this, she realizes quickly. Other people can't decipher the light in Darcy's eyes. Other people can't touch his chest and feel the heart underneath it. Other people who haven't spent hours and days and weeks and months in each other's company before actually being _together_ can't understand the speed of her epiphanies - how a person who stops becoming just 'colleague' or 'friend' can suddenly transform into 'future husband' overnight.

She matches him smile for smile - gaze for gaze.

Behind them, the crowd is still yelling their congratulations.

Her smile carries mischief at the recollection of where he kissed her for the first time - ten feet away from this very spot.

"At least I already have a dress," she says softly.

"Looking exquisite with or without it." He leans down to kiss her. She doesn't pull away.

She hears the shuffling instantly. Her instincts know for a fact just how quickly the crowds will be out to get them - how thoroughly their private moments will be displayed on each gossip website home page within five minutes of his kissing her at all.

It's a good thing she doesn't really care.

* * *

 **Ten Years Later**

* * *

"Sean, you _know_ you shouldn't have shoved your brother." Jane frowns at her youngest. She steadies the three-year-old by the shoulders. "Look at how Owen and Ryan play. Play like them - happily."

"But Jacob pushes me all the time!" Sean wails, a teary mess.

Jane sighs. The magical newborn moments and sentimental milestones make them want kid after kid - these trying times don't.

"Jacob pushes me and Tommy and Owen and Ryan every day!" Sean cries louder, the neatness of his well-combed golden curls contrasting with his sloppy, tear-stained face.

Some days, Jane is irrepressibly thankful only Owen - and all his kindness and maturity - have anything akin to powers.

"Do you like it when Dad helps you fly with a cloud?" She pats Sean's head.

"Yes." The kid sobs.

Jane smiles, her back just a little sore from hunching over in the toddler-sized chair.

"Dad was playing with you - wasn't he? Maybe Jacob thinks he's playing too." In the back of her mind, she's already steeling herself for the _other_ discipline lesson she'll be dispensing after this one.

"Maybe." The sobs have shrunken into sniffs, at least. Sean's fists still clenches into little balls, unlike his older brothers' angular knuckles.

"Good boy." Jane smiles. A whiff of frost on the edges of her house dress indicate her husband's approach. She pulls Sean up, hugs him, and turns him around.

"Daddy!" The kid toddles over.

Jane smiles serenely, enjoying the image of her husband holding their youngest - both of her boys framed by the high-tech sliding doors.

"How's my little man tonight?" Sean giggles with every tickle Charles digs into his chubby folds.

Jane walks over. "Is Caroline coming for Christmas?"

"She said she'll consider it." Charles leans over for a kiss from her before refocusing on Sean's tummy, occasionally planting a well-timed snuggle.

"Lizzie will be glad if she doesn't show up." Jane sighs. "Caroline can be nice but also - trying."

She feels her husband planting another kiss on her brow. She looks up with a smile.

"Sorry we _still_ haven't taken that holiday." Charles's smile hovers between guilt and tenderness. "We really can't in good conscience leave all five kids with your family."

Jane chuckles, snuggles her son, and kisses her husband. Bliss at home is a happy replacement for any of her traveling dreams. "It's okay. I'm happy here."

* * *

"You're the best! The one and only _Selenop_!" The girl squeals before it's even her turn.

She's tired, but showbiz is showbiz - and Caroline swaps her frown for a dazzling smile. She hears the camera shutters click away.

"How _did_ you keep up with such a boys' club!" Her latest fan fawns over her. This career choice is proving _the best yet_.

"It's tough, but I make it work." Caroline smiles. Her fingers efficiently sign another three page corners before the next admirer - fully prompted to already flip her book to exactly where she wants the signature - slides up for her three seconds with the great Caroline Bingley.

The great Caroline Bingley grins. "Any special reason you're here?"

"You represent independence to the masses!" The next middle-aged-woman squeals, signed book pressed against her voluminous chest. "To think you've survived _two_ divorces!"

It's not her favorite topic, but any sign of weakness is tabloid fodder.

"No man is worth your tears, my dear." Her voice is saccharine to the extreme - rehearsed, perfected. "Don't let the past cloud your future."

"So profound!" Two ladies scream simultaneously.

She's tired, and her eye bags are buried under three hundred thousand layers of makeup - but she's Caroline Bingley, and a flying spider doesn't let itself fall to the ground so soon after reaching the top of its web.

She signs another five dozen copies with impressive efficiency.

"Have you ever thought of getting married again?" The next fan question catches her off guard.

Caroline blinks, evaluates, calculates - truth or untruth?

"No one can catch and keep the eye of the one and only Caroline Bingley!" The woman's friend answers before the author can.

The edges of Caroline's lips twitch and _almost_ make it to a genuine frown before she redirects them into a smile.

"Is that right?" She giggles - mind a million miles away. Sure, in another life, she's already Mrs. Caroline Darcy. In another life, there's never been a Lizzie Bennet scooping in with her _ordinary_ ways and luring away the eye of the truly one and only Miragem.

In another time and place, Caroline Darcy may already be part of the most elite socialite circles simply by virtue of her husband's last name.

Earning a reputation through a bare-all memoir isn't _exactly_ the best way to fame.

For a few seconds, she sees her fans almost as if this were the first signing - almost as if she never wished that other, alternate life existed.

Then Caroline smilies.

"Well, ladies," she says with pitch-perfect finality. "No one's simply good enough."

* * *

 _A/N: One last epilogue chapter to go! I split up everyone's endings just to leave enough space to feel the time passing. Ten years is a long time :)_


	15. Chapter 15

"Yes, just like that. Isidore, don't make her cry. Meadow, fly just a _little_ higher. Yes - perfect. _Jim_ , no cursing in Latin!"

Another ten minutes and five reprimands later, the camera clicks and yields the perfect family Christmas photo. Matlock walks over to pat his cousin on the back.

"Thank, man."

"Anytime." Darcy smiles.

The living room of the Matlock wing has been turned topsy turvy just for this shoot - with backdrops replacing windows and a prop couch replacing the twenty-five hundred toys that usually clutter the space.

"Your colors look great." Darcy turns the camera to show him the screen.

Matlock grins. "Marianne's eye for color has never failed us before."

"Mommy, Meadow pushed me!" In the corner, Isidore clenches her copper fist into the curtain's fabric, tears already streaming down her face. Her black curls shake whenever she does. "She keeps taunting me that I can't fly!"

"Meadow, this one's on you." Marianne rushes over, Jim - now a much taller, leaner version of his baby self - at her heals. "Come down this instant. No flying in the apartment - you know that."

The youngest Matlock eases downward until she's perched on the floor. The mischievous glint in her eyes is 100% Richard, biological or not.

"Meadow, what do you say?" Marianne levels her gaze with their youngest. When squinting, the woman's crazy scary - Matlock knows. Freckles and glorious red hair glare back at their mother.

"Meadow!" Matlock warns across the room.

"Fine, I'm sorry." Meadow sulks.

"No, you're not! You don't mean it!" Isidore, a head taller, shouts at her sister.

"I do!"

"No - say what you really mean!"

"I'm really so - I mean you're horrible and hogging the camera all the damn time!" Meadow shouts, stomping her foot for extra effect.

Matlock groans, not impressed. Beside him, Darcy chuckles.

"Have mercy, dude." He glares at his visitor, cousin, colleague, and friend.

"You adopted them." Darcy shrugs.

"Carriers don't get a choice, you know - adoptive parents are often too scared to take them on." Matlock drinks in the chaos and joy of the entire scene around them. Stockings and wrapping paper and cracked Christmas ornaments lay strain all over the room and the formerly expensive furniture. Meadow, when not successfully levitating, is successfully crashing into one or two of her siblings on purpose. Isidore always makes people tell the truth - but Jim's arsenal of languages don't always yield something his sisters understand.

"Are you guys doing that interview?" Darcy suddenly asks.

Matlock shakes his head, smiling. "We prefer to keep things private."

"A family of five carriers - "

"Is a researcher's and a reporter's dream - I know." He reaches down to lift Isidore's doll away from Meadow's reach. The young girl levitates higher - Darcy helps.

"The fact that your family picture looks like a Kindergarten commercial doesn't help too, I'm sure," Darcy commiserates as he tosses the doll away.

Matlock smiles, too used to the thoughts to care. "Marianne's been the token Asian all her life. At least she shares it with Jim this time."

Darcy laughs gently. Matlock echoes it. Isidore and Meadow's mixed heritages only make their lives even better.

Three minutes later, Jim rallies his sisters with something in Japanese - and the kids march their way out the room.

Marianne shakes her head, sighs, smiles, and walks over - picking her way over the rugged toy terrain with ease. The Dealsmith as a mom is no joke.

"Regret it yet?" Matlock tucks her in under his arm.

"Never." Marianne smiles and snuggles close. He pecks the top of her head.

It took them a whole year after Wickham's capture to tell the team. It wasn't until the adoption papers got approved that they finally opened up about the emergency hysterectomy that had happened right after Jim was born.

Now, with the pitter patter of half a dozen young feet in their wing, he can't really imagine life any other way.

"How's Arthur?" He turns a little to ask Darcy about his own hiro-in-waiting.

"Learning." Darcy's smile is subtle but obvious.

"No training today? Just photography duty? I'm touched." Matlock grins.

"Lizzie wouldn't let us." Darcy chuckles. "Too much work to do for dinner - she says."

"She's right," Marianne agrees.

And Darcy just smiles.

* * *

"Honey, I'm home!"

The line is as cliché as cliché can be. Still, ever since Lizzie used it that one time, almost as a joke, when she got back from her three-day seminar - it's just _stuck_.

"How's my world-class photographer husband? Should I call the MET yet?" She picks her way across the room - skipping sometimes, hopping here and there - a stark, fun contrast to Marianne's gliding. He knows she's moving as fast as she can, but Arthur still beats her to him.

"Whoah, kid, watch it!" He catches his son - almost half his height now - by the chest. He's in full speedster garb today - hidden face and all. Sometimes, the TV shows _do_ get the occasional thing right.

"Did you see that, Dad? I didn't even touch the ground!" He's proud - and he should be. All three-feet, five-inches of him almost glimmer with pride.

Still, the kid's got a lot to learn.

"Great technique - just needs some polish." He pats the boy's head. He knows his smile is affectionate; he knows Miragem is supposed to be surly and brooding.

But today, the father replaces the hiro.

"Welcome home." Lizzie smiles before kissing him. The high-tech, chromatic shades of his bachelor pad have long disappeared under the crayon markings, finger paint, and stray Lego pieces. The setting isn't the most romantic.

But he lingers when he kisses his wife, before he fully takes in the chaos of the room next to her, and they look and laugh together.

"See that, Art? You need to make sure you steer clear of the perishables." She points out the cracked vase to her wide-eyed, barely-repentant son.

"I didn't mean to hit it."

"But you did."

"But I didn't mean to!"

"It's our job to control our powers, son." Darcy intervenes. He's grateful for Lizzie's grateful smile. Arthur looks up at him, almost keeling over backwards thanks to the ambitious angle of his neck. Darcy chuckles, and he presses a hand to the back of the kid's head, wielding Arthur's face to a safer angle. "One day, you can fight the bad guys. But you need to stop messing up Mom and Annie's stuff first."

"Why did I ever want a carrier?" Lizzie jokes gently as the rebuke finally sinks in with Arthur. Darcy presses her to his side.

He remembers those early days of parenthood very well, when each day yielded further proof of Annie's very ordinary capabilities. She's a smart kid, a cute kid - but definitely not a kid blessed with supernatural powers. He remembers Lizzie's tears in her more emotional moments - when she would complain that she'd somehow ruined the legacy of generations upon generations of Darcys.

Then Arthur came along two years later - and legacy just stopped being as much of a worry as sanity.

At least with Annie's almost innate hacking skills, there'll be plenty of eyes tracking the rasher, faster one.

"Need help, Mom?" Annie - in her hacker glasses and pony tail ensemble - emerges from her room, rocking her tween chic. They hadn't expected a honeymoon baby - but Annie happened.

And they appreciate more every day that she did.

"Arthur, you want your sister to watch you?" Lizzie warns, sexy as ever with her mom tones (when used with the kids, at least).

"No." Arthur sighs.

"Good." Lizzie smiles, leaning into her husband's side. "Thanks for the offer, Anne. Arthur will watch himself and behave perfectly for the rest of the day. Aunt Gia is going to see an _impeccable_ room when she arrives. Right, Art?"

He doesn't see it, but he _feels_ Lizzie winking. He sees it in his son's face, and he feels it in his soul.

Marriage is the best partnership ever.

"Good, now run along," Lizzie shoos them away.

Annie nods and slinks back towards her keyboard. Arthur disappears into his practice room in a flurry of zooms and zaps.

Alone with his wife, besieged by remnants of their parenthood on every side, Darcy smiles.

"Always efficient, dear." He turns to face her - and plants a kiss squarely on her lips.

She smiles, hums. "Only with them. I've always been helpless with you."

He appreciates the sentiment, and their actions veer towards the R-rated style of things for the next few minutes.

"Bedroom?" He pants a minute later. Her hips are anchored against his. He _knows_ she feels every inch of his growing enthusiasm.

She smiles, her eyes as mischievous as ever. "Should we be efficient there too?"

"Nope." He pulls her off the ground and up against him. She lets out a squeal before expertly hooking her legs around his waist. "Some things are for savoring as slowly as we want."

They don't talk much for the next half hour - since they're mostly preoccupied with stifling noises that their impressionable kids certainly shouldn't be hearing _yet_. Just a hundred steps away from Darcy Tower, her station glistens while it rests, and his gear stands respectably on display. Tomorrow, they'll fight another villain or two. Tomorrow, they'll crack down on another world-threatening source of evil - digital or physical or otherwise.

Today, it's Christmas - and they figure even superheroes deserve a break.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you so, so much to everyone who has been supporting this strange reimagining of our favorite characters. I hope it was a fun experience reading through this, and I hope I brought the characters to satisfactory places in their respective lives!_

 _In other news, some concerned readers have been kindly asking after the sudden disappearance of my published works from Amazon. The primary issue is that my publisher is no longer able to support them for the time being. Once the distributing rights return to me, I will be working overtime to make the stories accessible again as soon as possible! I'll keep everyone posted. Thank you for all the love, acceptance, and support. -Iris_


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